Getting Back
by Duckfeat
Summary: A junkie tries to get even with Grissom. Epilogue Up. Thanks for the reviews.
1. Default Chapter

Charlie gazed at the picture as he tied off and prepared to fix. The unreadable face of the holier than though criminalist made him grit his teeth. What an arrogant prick, Charlie thought as he depressed the plunger on the syringe, sending a wave of pleasure throughout his body. His feet rested on the stained hotel coffee table and he purposefully brought his right boot heel down on Gil Grissom's nose, further marring the worn newspaper. He would find a way to hurt him. No more laughing when Grissom appeared awkward during press conferences. No more snickers when he caught a glimpse of him on the evening news. No more wishing he's done this or done that. Gil Grissom had hurt him. He had humiliated him. Gil Grissom would pay, in the most valuable currency Charlie knew.  
  
Charlie saw his dealer before setting out. His back hurt and his legs shook. He fixed before heading out to the Arante foothills, enjoying the vague invincible feeling the drug gave him. He'd heard his scanner buzz with the activity of a double homicide call ten minutes prior. Awesome. This stuff didn't happen everyday. Charlie settled into the ripped upholstery and drove east against the darkness, into the desert. His mind was dazed, but alert. He loved that he'd see Grissom at the "scene." Double homicide. How could he not see him? Arrogant prick. Charlie pulled off beside a cluster of cars and curious onlookers. He spotted his nemesis talking to an older cop and pointing to various areas of the scene. Charlie watched Grissom even as he made himself blend into the mass of gawkers.  
  
"Sara, Grissom called, be sure to get those drag marks to the left of the car."  
  
"On it, Griss," Sara nodded back.  
  
Charlie watched the cops, the EMT's, the CSI's, and was mesmerized by the yellow tape strung everywhere. This was so real. Much better than his dreams. The cracking of the radios was music to him. He was pleased to see several foothill residents remain on the scene. He imagined them trying to figure out why their ritzy neighborhood was suddenly "unsafe."  
  
Slowly, as the hands on his watch crept, Charlie kept secluded watch on the police cars and emergency vehicles that began to exit the scene. He gazed to his left and praised himself for finding the alcove on the house. It had helped to conceal him as neighbors abandoned their positions and made their way into homes. His car was not more than forty feet away. It was parked close enough to a driveway to give the impression that the driver lived in the house.  
  
"Griss, I've got this one cleared and bagged," Warrick looked up at his boss.  
  
"Good, I'm almost ready on vic two," Grissom answered as he bagged a green headband.  
  
I'll get him as he's walking back to his truck, Charlie thought. Stuff his arrogant ass into the trunk. Yeah. He's coming this way. Just wait. I've got the shadows on my side. It's dark. No one around. Charlie mentally kicked himself for not planning Grissom's capture better. Damnit! Charlie hated when he fucked himself over like this. Plan. Plan. Plan.  
  
"Sara, Warrick and I are going to take the two vics back with evidence. How much longer will you be?" Grissom had detoured north toward one of his people.  
  
"Probably another twenty, Griss," Sara answered. "Go on, I've got my Tahoe."  
  
Grissom hesitated. Finally, he walked closer to his investigator and leaned toward her. Oddly, his voice was still a bit raised as he spoke, "Riley and Burns are here. They're not to leave until you do." Grissom's tone was somewhat harsh. For Grissom, concern always tended to come out as agitation.  
  
Sara looked up at Grissom. Half-grinning, she shook her head slightly. "You know, Griss, I'm a big girl now. So go away."  
  
"They're here until you are, Sara. Live with it." Grissom relented, giving her his own half-grin and began walking toward Warrick. Grissom wondered vaguely if he'd ever had a headache before he met Sara. He also wondered if he'd ever minded having a headache less. Suddenly, something crossed Grissom's conscience. He shuddered as a chill shook him. Glancing back at Sara, he slowly turned toward Warrick in the waiting Tahoe.  
  
The CSI's exchange of smiles wasn't lost upon Charlie. He was pissed. Grissom was leaving with this unknown black guy and damnit, he should still be hanging around. Like he always did. Gil Grissom was one of the last to leave a crime scene. Damn him. It was obvious that Grissom thought highly of the dark haired woman he called Sara. Charlie had seen her before, at other crimes. This Sara person. She'd never seemed anything special before, at least in Charlie's mind. All of his attention had been on Gil Grissom. He thought more about what he'd just witnessed. The woman had called him "Griss?" An obvious term of endearment? "Son of a bitch, Grissom. I'll still get you," Gary muttered as he willed his foggy brain to conjure up a new scenario. He didn't have to think long as a plan unfolded before his eyes.  
  
Sara started toward her Tahoe, camera slung across her back, kit in hand.  
  
"Hey guys, she called to the two LVPD officers standing by the road. I'm all done here. Thanks."  
  
"No problem, Ms. Sidle."  
  
The officers got into their cruiser and signaled to get onto the highway. Sara swung herself up into the cab of the Tahoe and started the engine. The cruiser pulled onto the highway as Sara made preparations to follow suit. Suddenly, the Tahoe braked and Sara jumped out. Charlie had been cursing himself as he saw his chance getting away. He smiled, suddenly and crept toward the truck.  
  
"Damned rear door never stays shut," Sara muttered as she opened the tailgate and thrust it forward. She kicked it for good measure. Almost instantly, Sara was caught from behind. She struggled until Charlie jabbed a syringe into her thigh. Sara yelped at the stab of pain, struggling for another half minute before folding her knees as the heroin turned her body and mind to jello and bliss.  
  
What a fucking waste of smack, Charlie thought. Muscle shots were always a waste of a high. Not that he wanted this bitch to have a high. He just hated the waste. He carried Sara to his car and propped her swaying body against the rear door as he opened the trunk. Sara's body slumped and she landed heavily on the sandy roadside. Charlie smirked and grabbed her roughly from the ground. He placed Sara in the trunk and slammed it shut. Glancing around he knew they were alone. It was almost 2:00 am. A whistle suddenly played upon his lips and Charlie felt his pulse surge. He hopped behind the wheel of his Chevy and cranked the stereo. He could drive anywhere and he could do anything. Maybe his plans had changed, but just maybe, the change was for the better. Charlie pulled onto the highway, heading toward home. He thought of himself and he thought of his lure. Grissom would hurt. One way or another, Charlie would make Gill Grissom wish he'd never crossed Charlie Dunn. 


	2. Dread

Grissom walked from Trace toward the breakroom. His head was down, eyes buried in a report.  
  
"Whoa, Gil." Catherine raised her hands to prevent Grissom from walking into her.  
  
"Oh, sorry," Grissom looked up.  
  
"Nick and I wrapped the suicide. How's your double coming?"  
  
"That's what I was reading. Brass interviewed the female vics daughter. The ex-husband drives a 2002 Expedition. It's consistent with tread marks at the scene. And, Grissom flipped a page on his notes, the girl says her dad's got a nasty temper."  
  
"Not an amicable divorce, I take it?"  
  
"Uh, no," Grissom mumbled. "Girl's sixteen and says dad threatened mom and mom got a restraining order."  
  
"Poor kid," Catherine shook her head.  
  
"Poor dead mom and new husband," Grissom added as Brass turned the corner and walked toward them.  
  
"Grissom, I just wrapped up with the daughter."  
  
"Lemme guess, Catherine interrupted Brass, she told you daddy has a gun collection and maybe some anger management issues?"  
  
"You're good, Cath," Brass rolled his eyes. "I've got an APB out on one, Victor Curry. A and D." Brass continued down the hall, throwing a backward glance at Grissom, "And let me know about those tread marks."  
  
"Why didn't I think of that?" Grissom smirked to Catherine.  
  
"Now, Gil, you know the little man always gets testy around evaluation time."  
  
"Funny, Cath. I'm just waiting on the casts and tread photos from Sara.  
  
"Let me know if you need me. I'll be finishing paperwork. Oh joy."  
  
"Thanks, will do." Grissom checked his watch and frowned. Sara should have had those prints to him half an hour ago. He started toward the lab, something still tugging at the back of his brain. It gave him a vague, uneasy feeling. Spotting Warrick at the lab doors, he quickened his pace.  
  
"Warrick, you seen Sara?"  
  
"About to ask you the same, Griss."  
  
"You check with the desk?"  
  
"Yep, she hasn't signed back in and she's also not answering her pager."  
  
"Terrific, " Grissom growled. Headache indeed, he thought, pulling his cell from his pocket and punching two buttons. After six rings he tilted his head at Warrick. "There's no reason for her to not pick-up." The call rolled into voice mail as Grissom frowned.  
  
"Sara, it's Grissom. Call me ASAP," he said in a loud staccato. Replacing his phone he was already down the hall. "Come on Warrick, let's backtrack."  
  
  
  
Sara noticed the smell before she even opened her eyes. A vile mix of sweat, garbage and vomit. She knew she was on her side. As her eyes opened she discovered the vomit was hers. Like the rancid coating in her mouth hadn't been a big enough clue she thought. God, what was wrong with her brain? Her head felt fuzzy and it took great effort to lift even an arm. Drugs? Oh yeah, definitely, drugs. Damn, think! What the hell happened? She rolled onto her back and could feel the chemical trying to suck her back to sleep. She fought it. Finally, after more than a few failed attempts, she righted herself into a sitting position. She glanced around the tiny filthy apartment(?). Trash was stacked agaisnt two walls and roaches seemed to roam freely. She shuddered and thought of Grissom.  
  
"Grissom," Sara whispered hoarsely.  
  
She had been working a scene with Grissom and Warrick. Jeez, to just get the cobwebs from her mind.  
  
"They're not to leave until you do."  
  
Grissom standing over her. Sara shook her head with the memory. She slowly searched her body for possible injuries as she let the mental slide show come at will.  
  
"You know, Griss, I'm a big girl now. So go away."  
  
God, Grissom, please don't go away. Please come back. I didn't mean it. Griss, please.  
  
"They're here until you are, Sara. Live with it."  
  
No, Grissom, nobody is fucking here! That's the problem. Sara's hand traced a crimson stain on the upper leg of her jeans. Her thigh was sore and throbbed. He stuck me with something. He. Yes, a he. Someone had grabbed her. She remembered struggling and then a stabbing pain in her leg. Oh yeah, drugs. She had seen the hand drop the used syringe as she fought him. Then nothing. Blackness.  
  
Sara struggled to one knee by grasping the ratty arm of a nearby chair. She was sore and dizzy, but otherwise appeared all right. Her eyes scanned the apartment again, this time fixing on the door. A way out. Wherever the hell she was, here was a way out. Hurry up she admonished herself, willing her rubbery legs to support her frame. Her hand reached for the door just as the knob turned and it opened.  
  
Grissom's left hand gripped the steering wheel as his right hand drummed against his thigh in a fit of nervous energy. Damnit, Sara. Where the hell are you? He was slowly losing his battle to keep the feeling of dread at bay. Glancing down at his right hand, he exhaled and brought it back to the wheel. Nervous was not something he did well. Cool, calm, Grissom. Just concentrate on the road. Don't think about possibilities.  
  
Warrick glanced at his boss. He could almost feel the nervous energy emanating from Grissom's body. It just wasn't normal. Warrick responded with a few deep breaths and struggled to keep his tone light. "Ya know, Griss, she's probably just got a flat and."  
  
"She would have called, Warrick."  
  
Warrick nodded and turned to stare out the window as they neared the turnoff. Grissom had already radioed Brass, who had assured them that Sara left the scene right behind his two officers. Within minutes, Grisson slowed the truck as they pulled into a lot adjacent to the scene. Both men stared at Sara's Tahoe, headlights on, driver's side door wide open, interior lights aglow. Neither man said a word, but both reached for their guns.  
  
They exited quietly, Grissom motioning Warrick to cover the left. As the CSI's neared the Tahoe, they could hear the engine running and faint strains of music coming from the stereo. Trying to preserve possible footprints they left a wide berth around the vehicle, continually sweeping the ground with their flashlights.  
  
"Sara?" Grissom called out in as normal a tone as he could muster. His voice sounded hollow. He glanced questioningly at Warrick. Giving Grissom the briefest of looks, he shook his head, indicating nothing on his side. Slowly, they made their way toward the rear of the truck. The interior lights cast both men in an eerie glow. Reaching the back of the Tahoe, Warrick visually cleared the interior.  
  
"I've got intermingled footprints and brief drag marks here, Warrick." Grissom slept the dirt with the beam of his light. "And." Grissom hesitated in order for his brain to reconcile what his eyes were seeing. "And what, Griss?" Warrick asked, crouching down beside him.  
  
"Uh, it's a used syringe, Grissom said. He wandered why his voice was so steady. Hollow, but steady.  
  
"Blood on the needle. Couple drops on the ground. Looks fairly fresh too," Warrick added as he shined his flashlight alongside Grissom's.  
  
A block of ice slowly melted in Grissom's stomach, chilling him to the very core. Sara. Where are you?  
  
He cleared his throat before leveling a steady gaze at Warrick. "Get Catherine and Nick out here. I'll notify Brass." 


	3. Dazed

The action of the door flung Sara backward and to the floor, her mind once again becoming addled by flashes of light and pain. Charlie stood in the doorway, looking at her, sizing up the situation. Sara was sprawled in a heap beside his favorite chair. His mother had given him that chair.  
  
"Now I know you weren't gonna leave me, miss hotshot CSI."  
  
Sara, still dazed, struggled to raise her head. Charlie threw a bag on the table and captured Sara by both arms. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from the bag. Sara began to struggle and Charlie backhanded her face with such force that he surprised even himself.  
  
"I don't like to hit women," he spat at a nearly unconscious Sara as he bound her feet and hands with the thick tape. Satisfied with his work, Charlie propped her against the chair. Sara blinked several times, then squinted up at him.  
  
"Who are you?" she slurred. Her jaw was swelling and she hoped vaguely that it wasn't broken. Damn, why was she trapped in this nightmare with a sore leg and bad guys who hit her? Wake up, Sara! Open your eyes, NOW! Ok, sometimes it took a bit of time, she reassured herself. This was a classic nightmare. Weird guy, scary place, cockroaches.  
  
"Grissom!" Sara shouted and flung her head back, cracking it against the ratty chair. The pain brought her back to semi-reality and she knew she wouldn't be waking up to her cotton sheets and down comforter anytime soon.  
  
"How ya doin', miss CSI?" Charlie asked, leaning into her face.  
  
"Fuck off!" Damn, she hoped that came out right. She couldn't even enunciate. His breath was thick and heavy and wreaked of God knows what, she thought. He leaned in closer and Sara thought she would gag.  
  
"Listen, bitch, you be nice to me and Charlie's gonna be nice to you. Got it?"  
  
As he backed away, Sara sighed and willed herself to play along. Treat it like a game. Play the fucking game. Damnit, games were not her forte. She had never understood the point. What was the fucking point? People who played games were just.Yeah, what was the point? To live. Yes, to live.  
  
"My name is Sara."  
  
Try to get the creep talking. Try to make him see you like a person. Like a human being. Like a sister or mother. He can't kill his sister. God, Sara thought, I hope this psycho liked his family.  
  
"Your name is Charlie, right?" Sara asked, attempting to engage him.  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
"Charlie, why did you kidnap me?" Sara hadn't seen a gun yet and she cast some glances at her captor, while still trying to appear somewhat weak and dazed.  
  
"Cause Gilbert Grissom left," Charlie almost sing-songed as he hopped to his feet and grabbed an open can of beer from the table.  
  
*************************  
  
Catherine stood and stretched from dusting the back gate of the Tahoe. She spotted Grissom talking to Greg a few yards away, and wondered why he'd been summoned to the scene. She remembered then. Sara was taken. Gone. We can find her, she repeated to herself again and again.  
  
"Cath, I've got nothing," Nick said. The dejection in his voice was obvious and she swung around to face him.  
  
"It's ok, Nick. We're trying to get evidence from the scene of a scene."  
  
"Of a damn scene," Warrick finished for her, shaking his head.  
  
"No, we're trying to find Sara." The words were clipped and precise and reflected none of the emptiness and fear boring a hole in Grissom.  
  
The CSI's turned toward him. Catherine couldn't help but note that the strength behind the words couldn't mask the fright in his eyes or the paleness of his skin. Jesus, Gil, please don't fall apart now. Not now. We need you. Sara needs you.  
  
"Any prints on the syringe, Griss?" Nick cocked his head thoughtfully.  
  
"A couple. Greg's going to run them," Grissom answered as he ripped open a packet of Tylenol and popped them into his mouth. Catherine handed him a bottle of water.  
  
"Migraine? That's not going to help, Gil."  
  
"It's just a headache and I'm not taking anything stronger." Grissom made eye contact briefly with Catherine. She understood.  
  
"Gil, is Greg able to tell us what was in the syringe?" Catherine ventured.  
  
"Heroin. Cut with Manitol, usual stuff." Grissom replied flatly.  
  
"Why? What the fuck is going on here?" Warrick rubbed his face and looked anywhere but at Grissom. He couldn't stand to see the fear. The fear would only remind him of how much they all needed to find Sara. She was a part of them. She was Sara. They needed her. Grissom needed her.  
  
Nick put his hand on Warrick's shoulder. "It's ok, man. We'll find her. Sara's tough. We will get her back." He was glad to see a slight nod of Warrick's head. Everything was going to be all right. It had to be. Sara had to be ok.  
  
Grissom turned quickly and began walking toward his Tahoe. "I'll be at the lab."  
  
"Gil, wait. I'll drive you," Catherine called after him.  
  
"I'll drive myself. I need some time. I can't be here right now." His words were so out of character that the three remaining CSI's stood, momentarily stunned. Grissom had just revealed more in three seconds than he had in three years.  
  
Grissom couldn't even remember the drive. He seemed to arrive in front of the building. So familiar yet changed somehow. Sara wouldn't be inside waiting to ask him a question. He wouldn't find her napping in the breakroom after working too many hours. Sara wouldn't be pacing the halls waiting to berate him for the failures of the police or courts. He really wanted her to be there. Yelling about this or that. Incensed by the damned bureaucracy. Asking him to help her make things better. Make things right. Give justice to the voices that spoke to her. Grissom wanted Sara. He wanted Sara back. He fought the urge to pound his fist into the dashboard. They had to get her back. 


	4. Roach Union

Hi everyone. Here's chapter four. Hope you enjoy it. Also, thanks to those who have reviewed. Please continue to do so. It is much appreciated as this is my first ever fan fic. The next chapter should be up by this weekend.  
  
And by the way, major kudos to those writers who manage to post such excellent work in such a timely manner. I'm learning that it's pretty damn tough. My hat is off.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Brass entered the DNA lab at a brisk clip, scanning the room. Greg sat huddled over a rack of test tubes. The place was oddly devoid of the usual "music" coming from the stereo.  
  
"Saunders, I thought Grissom was back here?"  
  
Without looking up, Greg simply shrugged, obviously not willing to stop the task at hand to answer Brass's rather evident query. Grissom, as if on cue, came through the doors. He blew on his coffee while adjusting his glasses, an air of urgency punctuating his every move.  
  
"Anything, Greg"?  
  
The tech handed Grissom a printout, spinning on his chair to face him. Brass noted that everything about the young man's demeanor was changed. No smirk, no joking. His serious expression stood in stark contrast to his spiky hair as he spoke. "The blood on the syringe, in the needle and on the ground is all Sara's." Just enough to indicate the syringe was probably stabbed into her pretty forcefully..."  
  
"Not to mention the needle was bent." Grissom mumbled.  
  
Brass stepped forward to get Grissom's attention. "Listen, Gil, I've got seven people from the surrounding homes. They were questioned earlier at the homicide scene. I've got them down in interr.by the way, the ex, Victor Curry, was brought in around 9:00, covered in blood and hopped on meth. Full confession. We'll see if any of them heard or."  
  
"Yeah, I heard about Curry. I need to rule him out as a suspect in Sara's disappearance," Grissom sighed and rubbed his forehead.  
  
"Already done. He was at his apartment, beating the crap out of his girlfriend when you were processing the double," Brass replied.  
  
Greg, who had moved over to the computer screen, raised his head quickly, eyes showing a hint of excitement. "And those aren't Curry's prints on the syringe."  
  
"You got a match?" Grissom's eyes sparked too.  
  
All three turned to the monitor as Greg read the data. "Charles Lee Dunn, age 24. No felonies. Misdemeanor spousal abuse."  
  
"How do we have his prints on a misdemeanor?" Grissom leaned over Greg to peer more closely at the screen.  
  
"He applied to LVPD three years ago," Greg replied, scrolling down the page.  
  
"Spent only a couple of weeks in the academy looks like," Brass noted, flipping open his cell. "I'll get some cars over to check that address and issue the APB."  
  
"Can you also get me his application file, Jim? Tell records to send it over. Right now I want to get to Dunn's last known address," Grissom spoke quickly, taking off his lab coat in the process.  
  
"Grissom, it's been three years. It's a real long shot he's still there."  
  
Giving Brass a slight frown, Grissom headed through the doors.  
  
  
  
************************  
  
Sara attempted to collect her thoughts. Who knew duct tape was so damned strong? How long was this brain fog going to last? She detested the out of control feeling. God, no wonder she'd never had a desire to get into the drug scene, even recreationally.  
  
Without moving, she cast an upward glance at Charlie. Not five minutes ago, Sara had watched him cook a spoonful of what, she guessed, was heroin, and tie off his upper arm. He was methodical. Amazingly, he then ripped open the packaging on a new syringe and wiped the inside of his arm carefully with rubbing alcohol. How nice, she thought. A health conscious junkie. She could only pray that he had used a new needle on her.  
  
Having injected himself, Charlie propped his feet on a stack of old newspapers, his head bobbing contentedly against his chest. Sara held out some hope that the son-of-a-bitch had overdosed himself into a coma or death. Unfortunately, she noted that he seemed to be still conscious. Just very out of it.  
  
Sara closed her eyes and pieced together what she knew. Charlie knew Grissom or, at least, of him. Her abductor was a drug addict. She had seen his needle-marked arms. The tracks didn't look as bad as a street junkie using homemade works, but it was a safe bet that he injected frequently. Sara guessed he must have had some rudimentary medical training. That or he was compulsively clean. She quickly dismissed the latter; as yet another roach scampered across her field of vision.  
  
Straining again at the tape binding her hands and feet, Sara theorized that Charlie had meant to take Grissom instead of her. His earlier cryptic statement could certainly be read that way. Hell, she thought, Griss would be more at home here than me. He would probably have had the cockroaches unionized by now and working in shifts to gnaw through the damned duct tape. Maybe even have them attack Charlie en masse. Boy, was her thinking screwed. Unionized cockroaches? She shook her head for the hundredth time.  
  
Sara certainly wouldn't want Grissom here in her place. Or any of the team for that matter. Well, maybe Greg, she smiled. Quickly, a wave of fear overtook her as the gravity of her predicament again made itself known.  
  
"Please, Griss?" she whispered. Please find me, she added silently. I've got a lot to say to you. A sudden noise drew her attention.  
  
*********************  
  
  
  
Four LVPD officers stood to either side of the front door to apartment thirty-two, the last known residence of Charlie Dunn. Brass stood a few yards back, alongside Grissom. One of the officers rapped his knuckles loudly on the door. He repeated the knocking.  
  
"Las Vegas Police Department! Open the Door!"  
  
Time seemed to stand still for Grissom. He heard the officer's command, but all of his focus was on where the next two minutes would put him. A personal hell? Dozens of scenarios played through his mind. Every one of them shook Grissom to his very core. Sara hurt. Sara dead. His Sara. His thoughts ran at warp speed, but time stood still.  
  
Grissom's trance was broken as the door opened slowly from the inside. The officers tensed, weapons steady. Twenty feet away, Gil Grissom held his breath.  
  
  
  
TBC. 


	5. Medical Training is Everything

A short dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties pulled the door open and faced the officers. She seemed non-plussed.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"We're looking for Charles Lee Dunn. Is he on the premises?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Do we have your permission to search the premises? We can get a."  
  
"Go 'head," the woman stood to the side and waved them in. "I've got nothin' to hide."  
  
As they fanned out through the apartment, Brass entered, followed quickly by Grissom. The CSI seemed to take in the contents of the apartment and size up the woman in one sweeping glance. He stroked his jaw in frustration and knew that Charles Dunn didn't live here  
  
"And you are?" Brass addressed her.  
  
"Patricia McClain," she answered dully.  
  
"The place is clear, Det.," an officer alerted Brass.  
  
"Told you. Charlie ain't here."  
  
"How do you know Mr. Dunn?" Brass persisted.  
  
"I was married to the jackass."  
  
Grissom leveled her with a hard stare. "Well, where the hell is he now?" His words were spoken in an uncharacteristically harsh town, laced with emotion.  
  
"Grissom," Brass warned.  
  
The woman's face lit up and she pointed at the CSI. "Hey, I know who you are! You're Gilbert Grissom! I thought you looked familiar. Man, just imagine! Charlie would so freak over this shit!"  
  
Grissom cocked his head in puzzlement and tried to fit this woman's verbal spew into any frame of reference.  
  
"Ma'am, you know CSI Grissom?" Brass queried.  
  
She ignored the question and continued staring at Grissom. "God, Charlie hates your guts. I mean not just normal hate, but stomp your brains out."  
  
"Ms. McClain, how does your ex-husband know me?" Grissom managed in an even tone. It took everything he had, but he managed.  
  
"You're jokin,' right?"  
  
"Answer the question," Brass practically spat. He was quickly losing his patience.  
  
"You got him booted from the academy. He's spent years hating your ass," she replied to Grissom.  
  
"Ms. McClain, I don't even know your ex-husband."  
  
"Well, he sure as hell knows you."  
  
**************  
  
  
  
Sara startled as Charlie grabbed her hands. He yanked her into a sitting position against the armchair. She tried to gauge his mood by his eyes. Rape? No, he probably would have done that already. Besides, junkies could never get it up, she thought with a hint of satisfaction. Shoot junk, get a limp dick. No, he wanted something else. What the fuck was he doing to her?  
  
"Charlie?"  
  
He left her propped where she was. Almost in horror she watched as he methodically began the preparations to inject . What? Her? No damnit, I don't like this shit. It makes me feel horrible. What the fuck? Heroin? No, not again. Please, not again! Sara struggled as he tied off her right arm with surgical tubing. A ripping sound. Jesus, please use a new fucking needle!? I hate this shit. Grissom, please help me. You would never let anyone do this to me. I hate this. Don't you know I hate this? What was she wishing for? She was going to die anyway. Grissom hadn't come.  
  
He sat on her and held her arm taught. The needle was jabbed into her vein. She tried to kick him. Sara wondered if he had trained in medicine under the Nazis. Joseph Mengala probably taught him nursing. Something was wrong with her mind again. It was all too late as the drug washed through her like all of the sleep, dreams, and nightmares she'd ever had. She saw Charlie, smiling. Sick grin. She saw Grissom, stroking her cheek, telling her everything would be all right. Catherine and Warrick held hands as they stood over her bedside, urging her to break free from the duct tape and just walk. Greg laughed as Nick prodded her in the shoulder. Leave me the fuck alone. You didn't help me. I can't think now. You didn't help me. Grissom, please? Just make up your mind. If you don't love me, tell me. Damn you. I know you left me here. Sara's mind went to gray as her head hit the floor.  
  
****************  
  
Warrick, Catherine and Nick sat around the table. Grissom entered and took the last seat. He rested several file folders on his lap. The air was charged with tension. Catherine was the first to try and break it.  
  
"Anything new for us, Gil?"  
  
Removing his glasses, Grissom rubbed his temples. "You've all read the application on Chalres Dunn. Emergency Medical Tech dropout. LVPD Academy for two weeks. Misdemeanor Spousal Abuse. Dismissed after hearing.  
  
"I'm going to guess this was right before spousal abuse became a felony?" Warrick ventured.  
  
"Unfortunately, yes." Catherine responded.  
  
Nick shifted in his seat. "I'm gonna play the devil's advocate here. Why was Dunn dismissed from the academy for what was then a misdemeanor?"  
  
Grissom sighed, then looked every member in the face. "Because, I pressed to make it a felony. I'm not going to pretend I even remember this case. It was just another damn."  
  
"Gil." Catherine stood and rested her hand on Grissom's shoulder. "Let yourself off the godamn hook here. Any of us would have done the same thing. He dislocated his wife's jaw. It should have been a felony. The wife was the one who."  
  
"No, Cath, I'm the one who wrote on the report that she."  
  
"What, Grissom?" Nick stood and paced the small room. "That she deserved to have the son-of-a-bitch charged with more than just, .just fucking normal abuse?"  
  
"Don't do this to yourself, Griss," Warrick sighed.  
  
"Why the hell not? Stop trying to let me off the hook. Sara is gone because of me. Because of words I wrote in a report on a case that I can't even remember. She's gone because I had some need to make everything A-OK in somebody's life." Because I was so consumed by."  
  
"Stop it, Gil!" Catherine sat opposite him and leaned into his face. "You are not responsible for this. But, you are responsible for helping us locate a missing member of our team. Yes, Gil, our team. We've all known for quite some time how you feel about Sara. But damnit, we love her too. And we need you to find her." As her anger deflated, Catherine relaxed into the chair and looked at Warrick. He placed his hand over hers and massaged it.  
  
Grissom stood and walked toward the door. He turned toward them before reaching the hallway. "I'm sorry, I want Sara back too." 


	6. Cleanliness is Important

Charlie watched as she nodded in and out of consciousness. He enjoyed the control as he slowly circled Sara, every few feet, nudging her with his boot. Another kind of high really. Now, what to do about Grissom? Sure, Charlie was enjoying this game, but the real fun would begin when he could see Gill Grissom squirm with fear.  
  
"Hey, you!" Charlie stopped and rested his boot on Sara's stomach. "Wake up, bitch! I didn't give you all that much."  
  
"Whadda you want?"  
  
"What's with you and Grissom, huh? Ya doin' him or what?"  
  
Sara's one fleeting coherent thought was that, seemingly, everyone in greater Las Vegas knew there was 'something' between her and Griss. She wondered oddly if it was a favorite topic of junkies in particular? A faint smile played on her lips as she tried to focus.  
  
"Fuck off, Charlie," Sara whispered hoarsely.  
  
There was a distinct crack as the steel toe of Charlie's boot connected with Sara's right side. She gasped as white pain seared through her ribcage, in spite of the narcotic. She seemed to stop breathing momentarily as waves of agony flooded her brain.  
  
"You keep sayin' his name in your sleep. You two in a reeelationship?" Charlie sing-songed.  
  
He got no response, as Sara lay half-conscious. He smirked and scratched his head. "One way to find out."  
  
**************  
  
Grissom retreated to the confines of his office, leaning back against the closed door while he rested his eyes. Never in his professional life had he been at such a complete and utter loss. Where to go from here? For God's sake he thought, he'd had occasion to be pitted against some of the most intelligent and twisted minds in the world. And now? Well, now one hell-bent idiot had thrown him for a loop. A gene pool reject, who had made every stupid mistake that stupid criminals make, was successfully alluding him. Ok, damnit, Grissom told himself, stop the self-pity. It's not helping to find Sara.  
  
Grissom pushed himself off the door and sat heavily in his desk chair. His mind played over the facts again, as he tried to get inside Charlie Dunn's head. Dunn wanted to hurt him, right? Punish him? So, why hasn't he killed Sara and dumped her body? The thought alone sent his stomach into a lurch, as though he were in free fall. No, Dunn was too obsessed with him to settle for vicarious revenge. He needed face to face satisfaction. This alone seemed to buoy Grissom's spirits considerably. Grabbing his keys and jacket, Grissom headed for the door. He needed air and he needed to move.  
  
******************  
  
Charlie yanked the scanner from his Chevy. He sat it on the ground as he again covered the car with an old tarp. He made his way back into the dingy apartment building and down the hall.  
  
******************  
  
Sara opened her eyes and couldn't remember ever having felt so crappy. Her tongue, she decided, had spent the past twenty-four hours growing more bacteria than Grissom had in his entire refrigerator. Fuck yuck! My kingdom for a toothbrush, she thought. My body for Grissom, Sara almost giggled. Ah, shit! Her head was screwy again. She had vague flashes of Charlie. Charlie standing over her. Charlie jabbing a needle in her arm. Fuck! Drugs, again. Damn him. She really needed to get the hell out of this situation, before she started naming the cockroaches. Sara attempted to propel herself into a sitting position, but was stopped outright as pain once again ripped through her side. Right, she thought, the son-of-a-bitch wears steel-toed boots.  
  
The door opened and Charlie entered, casting a quick glance at Sara. He set the emergency scanner on the table and flipped it on.  
  
"I shoulda had this here last night, Ms. CSI. Made you feel more at home. Where was my manners?"  
  
'No, you probably should have had it here so you could track how close the cops were to finding your mentally deficient ass,' Sara thought. She smirked to herself, pleased that the one third of her brain devoted to sarcastic responses was still intact.  
  
Charlie fiddled with the dials on the old receiver until he got the main LVPD frequency. Through much static, the usual patter could be heard. Coded dispatches. Officer responses. Charlie turned and leaned over Sara. Startled, she pressed herself harder into the floor and turned her face to the side. "Stop squirming, bitch. I'm gonna make you feel all better pretty soon." He turned her slightly and ran his hand along the waist of her jeans. Sara stiffened and held her breath, prepared to attack him in any way possible. Charlie's hand found her cell phone and unhooked it from her pants. He returned to the table and began the ritual of cooking a dose. Sara felt no small degree of relief that he had wanted only her phone. However, her eyes soon fell on the spoon he held.  
  
"No, Charlie, no," her voice took on a pleading quality and she mentally kicked herself.  
  
"Come on now, sweet thing. This'll make those cracked ribs stop hurting. Let Charlie help." He grabbed her, quickly slipping the surgical tubing around her upper arm and drawing it tight. Charlie then broke out a new syringe and began to fill it with heroin. Abruptly, he halted his actions and looked at Sara rather soberly. "Cleanliness is so important in the health care profession. Don't you agree?"  
  
Sara could only stare in fear and morbid fascination as Charlie finished filling the syringe. Instead of injecting it into her arm however, he carefully placed it on the table. Picking up the cell phone, he sneered at her. "We're gonna talk to Griss."  
  
"No," Sara shook her head. She couldn't do this. She wouldn't do this. She would not let this freak get his kicks.  
  
"Get the boss on the line," Charlie snapped, grabbing her by the hair.  
  
"I, I can't. You need to untape my hands," she said, never expecting him to comply.  
  
"Sure, sweet thing." He pulled a 38 from the back of his pants and pointed it at her. "It ain't like you're goin' anywhere."  
  
Renewed fear and frustration coursed through Sara as Charlie removed the duct tape from her wrists. Terrific, she thought, psycho junkie with a gun. That's original.  
  
Original or not, Charlie thrust the phone into her hands as he kept the gun pointed at her chest. "I know ya gotta have him on speed dial or something, so don't be pushin' more than three buttons."  
  
Sara's fingers tingled as normal blood flow was restored and she barely managed to punch the 'one' key, then 'send.' Charlie grabbed the phone from her like an over eager child with a new toy.  
  
********************  
  
Grissom's hand was on his cell phone before the first ring ended. His heartbeat quickened as he saw Sara's number on the screen. Pulling the truck onto the shoulder, he pressed the button.  
  
"Grissom," he answered, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible.  
  
"Is this CSI Grissom?" Charlie drawled.  
  
"Charles Dunn, I presume?"  
  
"Oh, you are talented, Gilbert."  
  
"I want to talk to Sara Sidle," Grissom said tightly.  
  
"What makes you think she's still alive?"  
  
Ignoring the iciness that shot down his spine, Grissom pressed on. "Because you wouldn't be calling me if she weren't. Let me speak with her." Grissom's nails dug into his leg as he waited for what seemed like hours. There was some commotion in the background and he thought he heard muffled cries. He couldn't think. Phone pressed against his ear he stared out at the dessert and then back across the highway, not knowing what his eyes could stand to focus on. The line seemed to clear somewhat and he heard her voice.  
  
"Griss, it's me."  
  
"Sara? Are you all right? He hasn't hurt you?" the words seemed to tumble from his mouth and he tried to order his thoughts.  
  
"I'm ok, for now. Really."  
  
Grissom rubbed his temples, recognizing immediately that her tone and cadence belied her words. Of course, he thought, what the hell did he expect her to say? Sara was always 'OK.'  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"I don't know," she seemed to pause and again he heard muffled commotion.  
  
"Sara? Answer me, Sara!" The seconds ticked by and Grissom was not even certain that his heart was still beating.  
  
"I'm here Grissom. You know we don't really talk anymore, Gris," Sara's voice trailed off.  
  
Panic rose in his chest. "Sara, what's wrong? What did he do to you?"  
  
"Funny what a little smack can do, huh Grissom?" Charlie came back on the line. "Really makes people open up, ya know. I think she likes ya."  
  
"Listen you son-of-a-bitch. It's me you want. You leave her the hell alone!"  
  
"Touchy, touchy. I'll do what I want, Grissom. I'm in charge now, not you. You're so fuckin' smart, then why can't ya find me?"  
  
"I will meet you anywhere, Dunn. Let Sara Sidle go."  
  
"It don't seem to take much smack to send her flyin.' Her bein' so skinny and all. Course, I was never really good at measurin' doses," Charlie laughed.  
  
The line went dead. Grissom swore and punched the steering wheel. He couldn't even feel it. 


	7. Who Told Las Vegas?

Hi guys. Thanks to those who have reviewed my story. I'm glad you like it. And thanks to Saryn for suggesting I accept anonymous reviews. I didn't even know there were two settings. Well, hope you dig this installment. I'll try to post the next chapter by this weekend.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Charlie cooked the heroin as he kept an ear glued to the scanner. He was expecting Grissom to have the LVPD hopping to check phone records. He knew cells were next to impossible to trace, but figured Grissom wouldn't give up without a fight. Sliding the needle into his arm, Charlie smiled and looked down at Sara. He'd given her a little extra. She'd be out for awhile. Charlie hummed as his head hit his chest and he could no longer raise it. His thoughts drifted to Grissom. Seeing him. Taunting him. Hurting the thing he loved.  
  
**********************  
  
"Damnit, Gil, what more could you do with a forty second conversation?"  
  
"Cath, I had her on the line," Grissom spoke as he paced the conference room. Brass, Warrick and Nick sat around the table.  
  
Warrick stood and walked toward Grissom. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he looked him in the eye. "Listen Griss, you look like shit. I'm your friend and I'm telling you to lay off yourself and get some rest. Please?"  
  
"Don't patronize me," Grissom said, shrugging off the hand.  
  
"Jesus, Gil, nobody's patronizing you," Catherine moved to the other side of Grissom.  
  
Grissom panicked for a moment, thinking Brass and Nick might join in this 'circle of love.' Thankfully, they didn't. He stopped moving more out of exhaustion than avoidance. Yes, he did need sleep. Would he get it? No.  
  
Nick stood and addressed Grissom. "Come on, man. You're going home. This Monday morning quarterbacking shit isn't going to find Sara. We need your mind sharp."  
  
"I think Jim was about to go get a bite to eat, Gil," Cath said, guiding Grissom gently forward.  
  
"I ate already, Cath," Grissom managed to frown, but it quickly turned into a yawn. He felt guilty immediately. Jesus, he thought, Sara's missing and I yawn. Fucking great. Yeah, I'm tired. So is everyone. I've been awake longer than this before. She's out there and I let her down. Thirty-six hours and I should have a lead. No lead. Just a taunting voice on the phone. Just Sara being shot up with god knows what. I will fucking kill the bastard. I saw Jim out of the corner of my eye.  
  
"Come on, Gil, I'll drop you home," Brass said.  
  
Catherine put her arm around Grissom's waist as she led him to the door. "Please, get some sleep. We'll call you if anything breaks, I promise." She gave him a quick hug.  
  
*********************  
  
It wasn't even her body anymore. Sara's hands felt her limbs and brushed through her hair, but her body still felt detached. She saw Charlie asleep or heavily out of it and was glad. Try to remember, she coaxed herself. Talking to Grissom. God, what had she said. The drugs took over. She remembered the drugs. Oh, yeah, Gris seemed anxious. He must be pissed at her again. What the hell had she done now? 'I swear, Gris, I haven't gotten emotionally involved in this case. I swear,' she managed a near giggle.  
  
*********************  
  
  
  
"Listen, Gil, we've got everyone we can spare on this," Brass spoke as he and Grissom walked to the parking lot.  
  
"We have nothing. That's the frustrating part, Jim. Dunn is a rank amateur."  
  
"And, according to his ex, a heroin addict," Brass added.  
  
"Thanks," Grissom frowned. "As if I needed reminding he's out there doing God knows what to Sara and I can't do a damn thing!"  
  
Brass put his hand up to halt the ramblings from an emotionally and physically exhausted Grissom. "Gil, stop. Listen to me. And hear me this time, damnit. I know you feel like your hands are tied. You're used to following an evidence trail. Well, my friend, the evidence isn't really taking us anywhere right now. Finding Dunn is going to take old fashioned police leg work." He searched Grissom's face for acknowledgement.  
  
Grissom nodded slowly, not quite meeting his friend's gaze.  
  
"I do have an idea what Sara means to you, Gil."  
  
Grissom tilted his head at Brass and stared tiredly at him. He wasn't completely surprised by the statement.  
  
"Hell, Grissom, I'm not blind," Brass smiled slightly. "Come on, you're in no shape to drive home."  
  
Grissom wondered idly if there was anyone left in greater Las Vegas who didn't think there was something between him and Sara. Refocusing quickly, he pulled his keys from his jacket. "I'm fine, Brass. It's only a couple of miles. I need to think."  
  
"No, Grissom, you need to stop thinking," Brass said quietly as the CSI walked slowly to his car.  
  
**************************  
  
Catherine, Warrick, Nick and Greg spread out at a table in the breakroom.  
  
"Slow night guys," Catherine spoke. "Nicky, if you can confirm that our dead male at The Palms was a suicide, that's it. Take Greg with you to help process."  
  
Greg managed a brief smile to find himself assigned in the field.  
  
"Warrick, how's your pedestrian versus car coming?"  
  
"Just finishing up paperwork. Lady's gonna live. The idiot driving tested at .15 BAC."  
  
"Ok then. I'm sticking around here to knock out some reports."  
  
They stood and began to disperse. "Cath? Nick turned to her. "Call us if there's anything on Sara. Anything at all."  
  
"I will Nick. I promise." She locked eyes with each of them briefly.  
  
*********************  
  
  
  
Grissom turned the knob and entered his townhouse. It seemed he hadn't been there for weeks. Sure, he'd stopped in to feed his spiders or grab a clean shirt over the last two days, but it was just in and out. For the first time since he'd moved into the place, it felt cold. A cold that shook his body briefly then settled in his soul. He spent a somber few minutes going through the usual chores, then adjusted the thermostat slightly to offset the chill. He climbed into a nearly scalding shower and washed quickly. Exhaustion overtook him and he stumbled from the bathroom. Barely managing to tug on sweats and an old tee-shirt, Grissom all but fell into bed. His last conscious thought was of Sara.  
  
***********************  
  
Charlie finished injecting Sara. She barely struggled. It had been only three hours since her previous dose. He prepared a batch for himself and settled into his chair, one ear close to the scanner.  
  
**********************  
  
Brass grabbed Catherine's arm as she emerged from Grissom's office.  
  
"Hey, you're lucky I didn't belt you out of sheer instinct," she smirked at him. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Malone in Narcotics just popped a street dealer on the Southwest side."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, with some persuasion, he ID'd Dunn's picture. Seems he's a regular customer."  
  
"Well, at least it gives us an area to search."  
  
"Better," Brass grinned "This kid remembers Dunn 'cause he was a freak for clean product and works."  
  
"Oh, that's priceless, Jim," Cath rolled her eyes. "Obsessive Compulsive junkie."  
  
"Who sometimes had the kid make deliveries to 1200 Joshua Place."  
  
"Apartment number?"  
  
"No, Dunn always met him in the hall or the parking lot."  
  
"You call Griss yet, Jim?"  
  
"Didn't want to get his hopes up. I'm going over and I'll roll two unmarked cars on a silent response.  
  
Catherine pulled her cell out. "Gil will never forgive either of us if we don't call him."  
  
************************  
  
Grissom had just thrown his feet over the side of the bed. He noted the time and was surprised and grateful for the four hours of sleep. The first rays of predawn light were coming through his blinds. His cell phone ringing brought him fully awake.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"Gil, Jim has a possible address on Dunn."  
  
"What is it?" Grissom cradled the phone between his neck and ear as he shucked his sweats. Looking around the bedroom, he grabbed the first clean pants he saw.  
  
"Brass is going over, Gil."  
  
"Catherine, give me the address," Grissom said firmly as he buttoned his jeans and pulled a dark blue sweatshirt over his tee.  
  
"All we have is 1200 Joshua Place. I'm going with Brass. He's going to dispatch a couple of unmarked cars."  
  
"I'll see you there," Grissom said, disconnecting the call. He pulled on socks and shoes. Then, clipping his gun and cell phone to the waistband of his jeans, he was out the door. He was already mapping the route in his head. He'd worked more than a few scenes in the neighborhoods surrounding Joshua Place. It was a drug haven. Grissom drove fast, grateful to finally be doing something.  
  
*********************  
  
"Units 32 November and 47 Alpha respond using code 77 to 1200 Joshua Place."  
  
Charlie stirred at the soft squawk of the police scanner. Something had gotten his attention. The dispatcher repeated the call and upon hearing '1200 Joshua Place,' he bolted to his feet and grabbed Sara by the shoulder.  
  
"Come on, stand up!" he shouted, pulling her roughly into a sitting position.  
  
"My feet are bound, Charlie," Sara mumbled to him.  
  
He backhanded her in the mouth. The blow sent Sara sprawling and blood trickled down her chin. Charlie seemed indecisive. Finally, grabbing his gun, keys and the small bag from the table, he turned back to her.  
  
"You just became a liability, bitch."  
  
TBC 


	8. Places, Everyone!

Thanks again for the reviews. Sorry it took so long to post this chapter, but this past week was quite fun and hectic for me. I'll try to get the next chapter up by Tuesday. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Grissom drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The sleep had sharpened his mind, but it couldn't alleviate his nervousness. He pulled the car over in a parking lot adjacent to 1200 Joshua Place. Brass was nowhere in sight, nor were any backup units. He hesitated briefly before pulling his gun and exiting the car. Every rule of common sense told him to wait yet every fiber of his being screamed at him to find Sara. The internal struggle continued as Grissom eyed the lot and the apartment building. The back of the structure had two ground floor entrances and a small maze of fire escapes crisscrossed the facade. It was still early for most of Las Vegas to be up. It seemed especially true for this particular complex, as Grissom saw no activity. He realized that even without lights and sirens, the arrival of three unmarked police units was bound to be noisy.  
  
  
  
********************************  
  
  
  
Charlie made his way down the hall and slowly opened the door to the parking lot. Glancing outside, he started to exit. His foot froze in mid- step, as he spotted a lone figure not more than twenty yards away. The person's back was angled away from Charlie, as he seemed focused on a trio of cars coming down the side street. Even from behind, the man was familiar to Charlie. 'Fuck,' he swore silently, 'I spent too much time on that bitch!' Raising his gun, he considered his options as the cars drew nearer and the figure began to turn. Even more Adrenaline surged through him as the object of his hate and obsession was nearly facing him.  
  
"Grissom!" Charlie spat, using both hands to steady his aim.  
  
Grissom, startled by the sudden shout, reacted instinctively and moved to raise his weapon.  
  
"Don't!" Charlie shouted.  
  
Grissom froze, his gun barely away from his side. He heard Brass and company pulling up as he stared at the disheveled Charles Dunn. The disheveled Charles Dunn who was pointing a .38 at his chest.  
  
"Drop the gun, Grissom, or I'll cap your ass right here!"  
  
"I'm laying down my weapon," Grissom spoke as he bent slowly and let his gun clunk harmlessly to the pavement.  
  
One glance at the approaching cars and Charlie knew he wasn't going anywhere. "Get over here, Grissom. Now!"  
  
The CSI hesitated, preferring not to provide the lunatic with a shield.  
  
"Move," Charlie growled, as he cocked the gun. "You wanna see your friend, dontcha?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Grissom walked toward Dunn. When he was within a few feet, Charlie reached out and grabbed him by the shirt. He spun Grissom 180 degrees so that he now faced the approaching officers. Grissom felt the nose of the revolver at the side of his head.  
  
Brass, who had exited his car, summed up the situation in a heartbeat and motioned Catherine and the backup officers to remain where they were.  
  
"You don't want to do this, Dunn," Brass shouted. "Put down your weapon."  
  
"Fuck you, I ain't stupid."  
  
"You've got nowhere to go. Talk to me and I'll try to help," Brass spoke as he took a step forward.  
  
"Any closer and I blow his head off." Charlie emphasized his point by pressing the gun even harder against Grissom's temple. Grissom closed his eyes.  
  
"Don't do it! I'm not moving. You see that, right?" Brass asked, trying to level his tone.  
  
"I'm gonna back up now and you ain't gonna follow. Understand! I'll fuckin' kill him!"  
  
Brass knew better than to push Dunn further. The suspect was irrational and capable of anything. Definitely better not to push at this point. Grissom appeared nervous and rightfully so, Brass thought. Who wouldn't be? He was also remarkably calm for having a gun at his head. The detective watched as Dunn backed into the doorway with Grissom, the door closing behind them. As soon as the door clicked, Brass moved toward his car and swung into action. Ordering further backup and SWAT units, he had the on scene detectives surround the building. Dunn wasn't going anywhere but that fact did nothing to bolster Brass. He knew that most hostage situations were a roll of the dice, at best.  
  
  
  
************************  
  
  
  
Once inside the hallway, Charlie pushed Grissom in front of him.  
  
"You try anything, you're dead."  
  
"Where are we going"? Grissom ventured, feeling the gun at his back.  
  
"You should be happy, man. I'm gonna take you to your bitch girlfriend," Charlie cackled.  
  
Grissom tried to keep his features emotionless.  
  
"With any luck, she may still be alive," Charlie spoke as they reached the apartment door.  
  
Grissom swallowed past the knot in his throat and didn't know how his legs still held him. Dunn's words echoed in his head as he played every possible scenario. He felt a key being pressed into his hand and considered trying to overpower the son-of-a-bitch. The thought of Sara stopped him. What if he couldn't take Dunn? What if Dunn killed Sara because of him? What if Sara was dead already? His mind seemed to shut down at the last thought.  
  
"Open the door," Charlie instructed.  
  
Grissom saw his hand put the key in the lock and turn it, but it wasn't really his hand. Jesus, this couldn't be real. Dunn shoved him and he turned the knob. Grissom felt himself being pushed from behind as he stumbled into the apartment. It was semi-dark with the blinds drawn and his eyes struggled to take in his surroundings. Newspapers were everywhere and the stench of garbage assaulted Grissom's senses. His eyes stopped moving as he saw the prone figure on the floor. He sucked in rancid air as he tried to get his breath.  
  
"Sara?" Grissom whispered.  
  
"Get in the corner." Charlie shoved him hard against the wall. Grissom slid to his knees then returned his attention to Sara, attempting to focus his eyes. He needed to see her chest rise. He needed her to move. She could not be gone. He would not let her be gone from him. Not now.  
  
  
  
**********************  
  
  
  
Catherine pulled a bulletproof vest over her head as she stood beside Brass, who had just donned the same protective gear.  
  
"Can we even narrow it down to a floor, Jim?"  
  
"The slumlord who owns the building is sending over a tenant listing, as accurate as that can be considering it's a drug swamp," Brass replied.  
  
"I called the rest of the team," she stressed.  
  
"Good, we'll need all the support we can get. SWAT can keep him contained, but we have to get in his head. Sixty percent of hostage situations end badly, Cath."  
  
"I know the statistics, Jim. No need to depress me further, ok?"  
  
  
  
TBC 


	9. Quiet on the Set

Hi guys. Thanks for the reviews. I hope people are still interested. I wasn't even able to access the site for most of the past three days. Don't know if it had to do with AOL or just overload. Anyway, sorry this chapter isn't longer, but I wanted to post it while I could. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
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Charlie, who stood over him with a roll of duct tape, blocked Grissom's view of Sara. He quickly wrapped the CSI's hands.  
  
"Nothin' personal," Charlie deadpanned. He closed in on Grissom's face and fairly shouted, "I fuckin' lied! It's everything personal. You fucked up my life, man!"  
  
"I don't even know you, Mr. Dunn," Grissom stated flatly, still trying to get Sara's prone form in his field of vision.  
  
"Right. I can see how you're all concerned about the girlfriend. She's been sucking up all the smack I can shoot her with," Charlie grinned. "That and I had to knock her ass out when I was trying to leave. You fucked that up too, Gilbeerrrt!"  
  
"What have you done to her?" Grissom asked as calmly as he could; His heart feeling as if it was going to jump out of his chest didn't help  
  
"Now, I don't like hittin' women, Griss, as she tends to call you, he sneered. "She just seems to bring out the worst in me." Charlie stepped aside and gave his newest captive a full view of Sara  
  
Grissom was now able to see Sara for more than a few seconds. He noted the rise and fall of her chest and was more than mildly alarmed by the unsteady rhythm. It wasn't hard to see or hear that her breathing was labored. He swallowed hard, his mind toying with several options to get Dunn's attention on him instead of Sara.  
  
Charlie scratched his head and gazed at Grissom. "It hurts you, huh? Seeing your girlfriend like this?"  
  
"You're wrong, Dunn. Sara Sidle is not my girlfriend. She's a co-worker who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your fight is with me."  
  
Charlie crossed the few feet to Sara and crouched down beside her. His eyes found Grissom's as he caressed her face. "Then I guess you don't mind if I touch her then, huh?"  
  
Grissom's gaze didn't waver as he fixed Charlie with a cold stare. "Your problem is with me, Mr. Dunn. I'm sorry Ms. Sidle got caught up in it, but she's a big girl and can take care of herself." As the words left his mouth, Grissom felt his saliva turn to acid. He knew he'd said the right thing, it simply hurt more than he expected. For a split second, he thought it fortunate that Sara couldn't hear him. He felt as if the words were a betrayal. Please, Sara, he pleaded silently. Please, just wake up and help me out here. I need you to look at me. I need to see your eyes. We've always been able to communicate with our eyes.  
  
Charlie stroked Sara's arm, his hand making contact with her breast. He noticed Grissom's jaw clench and smiled. Charlie figured he knew how to hurt Grissom.  
  
"Aren't you enough of a man to deal with me directly, Mr. Dunn? Ms. Sidle has nothing to do with this."  
  
"Oh, I think I am dealin' with you, Grissom. I just get the feelin' it hurts you more to see me hurt her." Charlie's touch turned violent as he grabbed Sara by the hair, jerking her into a sitting position. She gasped violently and her eyes shot open. Charlie raised his hand to hit her.  
  
"Don't!" Grissom yelled.  
  
Charlie smiled savagely as he brought his hand to her face and stopped at the last instant. Sara's expression barely reflected the near violence. She actually struggled to keep her eyes open and didn't seem to notice the new addition to the room. Charlie leaned closer to her. "Your boyfriend's here."  
  
Grissom struggled against the tape on his hands, his eyes not leaving Sara's face. She seemed to recognize him after a few seconds and relief flooded his body.  
  
"Grissom?"  
  
"I'm here, Sara."  
  
"You came for me after all. I didn't think you would." Sara's words were deliberate and seemed to take great effort. Grissom couldn't tell if this was from the obvious trauma to her head and face or from the drug. He decided it must be a little of both. Her eyes began to close again and Grissom felt a bit of panic.  
  
"Sara, please stay awake. I need you to stay awake, all right? Open your eyes."  
  
"Oh, isn't this sweeeet," Charlie sing-songed. You too are a regular Romeo and Juliet, aren't ya?"  
  
"Listen to me, Dunn. Let me help her. Do you want a dead hostage on your hands?"  
  
"Hostage?" Charlie said, raising the 38 again. "You think you're a hostage? I'm gonna kill you both."  
  
"No. You don't want to die. And you're not a killer. Not yet," Grissom bargained. "The police will be trying to contact you soon. They'll want to talk and they'll want to know how your hostages are. Understand? They know I have my cell phone."  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Grissom!" Charlie leveled the gun, his arm no longer as steady.  
  
"I know this stuff, Dunn. I know how the LVPD works. If they think you've harmed either of us, they'll rush the building. They will take you out," Grissom emphasized.  
  
Charlie walked over to the scanner. He really needed a fix.  
  
****************************  
  
Nick and Warrick stood over the hood of their Tahoe, the apartment building floor plan spread out in front of them.  
  
"Ok, we've got Dunn living in 103 and in 208 according to the incredible record keeping of the idiot that owns this building," Nick drawled, pointing to the different areas on the plan.  
  
"I'm betting on 103 as the current address. Cheaper? Plus, easier in and out for a junkie," Warrick said.  
  
"Maybe," Nick stood and stretched his back in frustration.  
  
Catherine approached the two. "SWAT hasn't been able to tell us shit in that regard."  
  
"They establish phone contact yet, Cath?" Warrick asked as he turned to her.  
  
"Nothing," she sighed in frustration. "They've all but tied Brass's hands with every agency in Vegas jockeying for position on this."  
  
"That's bullshit," Nicky spat. "Let's find Brass."  
  
"I'm with you, man," Warrick nodded and looked toward Catherine.  
  
"Let's find him, before I get fired for calling Grissom's cell myself," Cath said tersely.  
  
TBC 


	10. Speed

Hi guys. Again, thank you so much for the reviews. They do mean a lot. I'm glad you're liking my story and hope you continue to do so. I'll try to post the next chapter by this weekend. Enjoy.  
  
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Grissom noted the shakiness that seemed to have come over Dunn in the past few minutes and correctly surmised that the man was overdue for a fix. Well, all the better for us if he does shoot up, Grissom thought. A strung out junkie was irrational at best, while a sated one could be as malleable as playdough. Grissom needed to know what he was up against.  
  
"Looks like you need to score, Dunn. Seems like being cooped up in here wasn't part of your game plan."  
  
"How stupid you think I am? Charlie all but waved the bag in front of Grissom's face. "I was an EMT, man. I still got connections an' shit. Plenty to go around," Charlie sneered as he emptied the contents on the table. Grissom watched in amazement as several vials of pharmaceutical injectables and more than a dozen small packets of powder tumbled from the bag. One of the vials rolled off the table and landed inches from Grissom's knee. He extended himself to the right, trying to read the label.  
  
"Morphine Sulfate, if you're that interested, Grissom," Charlie said as he picked up another vial. "And, just so I can stay on my toes, a little Dextromethamphetamine to mix with it. Betcha didn't think I knew such big words, huh?"  
  
"Speedball." Betcha didn't think I knew such small words, huh?" Grissom stated, the slightest hint of irony in his tone.  
  
Charlie ignored him as he opened a new syringe and drew liquid into it from two different vials. He tied off and found a vein. As the syringe emptied into his system, he spoke. "Heroin's much better than Morphine as far as I'm concerned. I know the docs say it's one an' the same, but H has got more of a kick." He pulled the needle from his arm and recapped it. Grissom watched in rapt silence as he tossed the used syringe into one of the nearby piles of garbage.  
  
"So, I'll stay more in control, and your little chickie can have the H," he said, holding up a packet of white powder.  
  
Grissom cringed and thought desperately that Dunn might be planning to inject Sara again. "It appears as though Ms. Sidle has had quite a bit already. Remember what I said about having healthy hostages, Dunn?"  
  
"Don't sweat it, loverboy. I'm enjoying this ride too much to do anything for the next few minutes."  
  
Grissom watched as Charlie sat back in the chair. He wasn't asleep or in the usual addict's nod. He just appeared more relaxed. His eyes were unfocused but didn't close. The CSI made a slight move to roll to his side, testing Dunn's level of coherence.  
  
"I wouldn't try that, Grissom. The added speed is a nice effect. Keeps me sorta alert and all that," Charlie said, touching the revolver for effect.  
  
Grissom quickly turned his attention to Sara. "You still with me, Sara?" He saw her stir slightly, but her eyes remained slits. "Talk to me. It's, Grissom.  
  
"It's you, Griss? You're sure, I'm not imagining you? I can't uh, think."  
  
"Sara, stay awake. How do you feel?"  
  
"Sleepy. Want to sleep. I just want to go to uh, Griss, you there? I just want to sleep and, uh maybe we'll ride a coaster together sometime. Huh, Griss?"  
  
"I don't care, Sara! You goddamn stay awake! You hear me!" his voice took on a deliberately harsh tone.  
  
"Stop yellin' at me, Griss. I didn't get personally involved in this uh, this case, ok? It kinda found me," she almost giggled. Damn, had she imagined Grissom again? Her brain was so in and out. No, she had talked to him a few minutes ago. A lifetime ago? She realized time no longer registered for her.  
  
"No, Sara, stay AWAKE! Please, just do this! Just do this for me, he softened." Even if Dunn was aware of the words, Grissom didn't care. He knew a head injury coupled with a loaded dose of heroin or morphine was a potentially life-threatening situation and he could not and would not sit by without trying to do something to rouse her.  
  
"For you, Griss, always anything for you, Grissom," Sara slurred and struggled to make eye contact with the disembodied voice. She forced her eyes wider and made out the face of the man she had fallen in love with more than ten years ago. The man who now sat a mere few feet from her. Strange, Sara thought, his eyes looked tired and angry. Maybe a little scared. He licked his lips in a nervous tic. Grissom didn't get nervous, Sara thought briefly. He was always cool and calm and didn't feel. This was odd. This she wasn't used to. It scared her. Sara fought to curl her lips into a small smile as she tried to bring one to his face as well.  
  
"Stop scaring me, Gil Grissom," she managed.  
  
Grissom was terrified. Sara's words weren't making sense and her eyes were almost vacant. Then, he watched as she gave him a slight grin. That was Sara. That was his Sara. He allowed himself a deeper breath and managed to curve the corners of his lips upward in return. He noted that her eyes acknowledged his with a hint more focus. Grissom wasn't one for prayer or mental telepathy, but he put his faith in both as a constant thought ran through his mind. I will get us out of here, Sara. I swear I'll get us out of here. I love you.  
  
***************************  
  
"Damnit, Catherine, I just got word myself. You think this is any easier for me?" Brass tilted his head at the assembled group of CSI's.  
  
"It's not easy for any of us, Jim. I can't believe over ten minutes have passed and Grissom's cell hasn't been tried. Or Sara's for that matter."  
  
"You know we've been auto dialing hers for over six hours with no results. It's either dead, he's disabled it or thrown it out the damned window!" Brass yelled.  
  
"Hey, Brass. Man, calm down ok," Nick spoke in a low voice, while reaching out, as if to place a hand on him.  
  
"I'm fine, Nick. Listen. Everyone. I've been told to make the call to Grissom's cellphone. I have maybe ten idiots from five different departments breathing down my neck. I'm trying my best here." He looked at Catherine, Warrick and Nick individually.  
  
"We know you are, man. Where're you doing the call from?" Warrick asked as he placed his arm around Catherine's back.  
  
"The SWAT Com van. You want to come with me, Catherine?"  
  
"Yeah, I would. Thanks." She began crossing the lot with Brass. Her attention was caught as Greg hopped from his car a couple hundred feet away. She smiled to herself and thought, yeah, the gangs all here. You haven't got a chance, Dunn. For the first time in days, Catherine allowed herself a grin.  
  
********************  
  
Grissom tried to take inventory of the situation. Rather, he thought of the situation that Sara had fallen into. On a rational level he knew that it had not been preventable. On an emotional level though, he berated himself. His guilt overwhelmed him. He should have known, should have been the one, should have done this or done that. He knew that right now he should no longer linger on Sara's battered face or he would become physically ill. It shocked him to the core to realize that her pain hurt him more than anything he had ever felt. Her pain scared him.  
  
********************  
  
Catherine and Brass sat at the switchboard in the SWAT Communications van. Activity swirled around them as an officer punched in a series of numbers.  
  
"I'm surprised they didn't give it to the hostage negotiator. No offense, Jim."  
  
"They were until I convinced them that I was the better choice. I've talked to Dunn, plus if I can talk to Grissom or Sara, I have an advantage."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"I know them."  
  
Catherine gave him a questioning look, tempered by a half smile.  
  
"Well, as good as anyone can know those two," he smiled.  
  
"Amen to that," Catherine laughed.  
  
"We're almost ready, Captain," the officer next to Brass announced.  
  
"Good," Brass sighed deeply, trying to rub a kink from his neck.  
  
Catherine leaned toward him. "You'll do great, Jim. Aren't you glad they make you go to that Hostage Negotiation course every year?"  
  
"Missed it this year. Flu," Brass deadpanned.  
  
Catherine sank noticeably into her chair.  
  
"I'm kidding, Catherine. Trying to inject a little levity."  
  
"Well, don't. It throws my world off kilter when Jim Brass is funny, ok?" she smiled at him.  
  
"All right, Captain. You have an open speaker connection to Mr. Grissom's cell number. It's ringing."  
  
Brass nodded.  
  
TBC 


	11. And, Action!

Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm glad you like the story and I appreciate your taking the time to let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
  
  
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The line was picked-up after six rings, but a voice could not be heard.  
  
"This is Jim Brass with the Las Vegas Sheriff's Department. Who's on the line?"  
  
"What do you want?" Charlie's voice came over the speaker.  
  
"I just want to talk, Mr. Dunn. You are Charles Lee Dunn?"  
  
"I ain't CHARLES anything, cop."  
  
"You prefer Charlie?"  
  
"I prefer you an' your buddies back off, so I can get the fuck outta here without hurtin' anybody, asshole!"  
  
"We can talk about that, Charlie. But first I need you to tell me something. Is Sara Sidle with you and Gil Grissom?"  
  
"What if she is?"  
  
"Charlie, before I can help you, I need to know that both of them are alive and unhurt. You understand?"  
  
Catherine, who had been watching Brass intently, now leaned her head back and closed her eyes, as if willing the answer to be positive.  
  
"I understand the police department is still fuckin' with my life, asshole!"  
  
"Listen to me, Mr. Dunn. Are your hostages alive and unharmed?"  
  
"Now, I thought we was on a first name basis? You're hurtin' my feelings here."  
  
Brass rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "Charlie, I need to speak with Gil Grissom if I'm going to help you. The department will not negotiate until we're assured he and CSI Sidle are alive." Several seconds passed with static coming over the line briefly. Brass placed a hand reassuringly on Catherine's arm and they both heard a welcome voice.  
  
"Brass, it's Grissom."  
  
"Gil," he exhaled forcefully, "you ok?"  
  
"I'm fine. Sara's just across the room and Mr. Dunn is cheek to cheek with me, listening to everything."  
  
"Gotcha. How is Sara?"  
  
"I was just explaining to Mr. Dunn, or Charlie as he seems to prefer, that she's in need of medical attention."  
  
Brass shut his eyes in frustration and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Charlie, can we send a paramedic to 103 to evacuate Ms. Sidle?"  
  
"Huh, how'd you know where I live?"  
  
Catherine smiled at Brass.  
  
"That's my job, Charlie. Come on, let me take Ms. Sidle off your hands. One less thing for you to worry about."  
  
"Everybody must think I'm fuckin' stupid. Your job is to figure a way to get us outta here. A car or something, man. Right now you don't get nothin.' No girl, no Grissom and I'm tired of talkin'!"  
  
The line went dead and Brass sank back into his chair.  
  
"Well, at least you confirmed the apartment number, Jim."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Hey, it's a start. And Gil managed to let us know Dunn's holding them both in the same room."  
  
"Stop trying to cheer me up, Catherine."  
  
"Ok, let's move on. What's the next step?"  
  
Brass stood and offered Catherine a hand up. "Update SWAT, wait, then we call back good ol' Charlie."  
  
"Yippe," she said drolly, accepting Brass's hand and standing beside him. "I don't know about you, Jim, but I need some coffee."  
  
"You're a mind reader, Catherine. Caffeine's the only thing getting me through this."  
  
****************************  
  
Charlie leaned into Grissom's face. "Your cop friend out there don't give me much credit."  
  
"Just keep in mind, Charlie, that when he calls back, he's going to want to know how Sara's doing. He'll probably want to speak with her. If she's unable to talk, they'll assume the worst and figure you're unstable. They'll storm the place."  
  
Charlie stood and began pacing through the small apartment, stopping to take a swig from his beer.  
  
"Let me help her, Dunn. At the very least, it'll buy you some time."  
  
"Ok, damnitt! Just shut your mouth. You get like three minutes max."  
  
Grissom held his bound wrists out to Charlie.  
  
"Nope. Tape stays on. Work around it, hotshot."  
  
Rolling to his side, Grissom braced himself to stand. Charlie shoved him viciously with his boot, sending the CSI thudding against the wall. Grissom's forehead smacked the wood molding with a resounding crack.  
  
"Shouldn't be so clumsy," Charlie chided. "I suggest you crawl over to your precious darlin'."  
  
The ringing in Grissom's ears began to abate. He raised his hands and touched the raw knot now forming on his head. Ok, he thought, that definitely left a mark. Bastard. Glancing back at a now seated Charlie, Grissom slowly crawled across to Sara. Her eyes were closed. His heartbeat quickened as he saw the bruising up close. Bastard. Grissom reminded himself to stay focused. Becoming overwhelmed by emotions and anger wouldn't help either of them. He knelt carefully beside her.  
  
"Sara, it's Grissom. I'm going to try to make you more comfortable, but I need you to tell me where you hurt. All right?"  
  
"Oh, God, Griss. Am I still here?" she asked, almost incredulous, as she forced her eyes open. Finding his face hovering mere inches from hers, Sara flinched slightly. "Damn, Grissom. In my other dream you were over there," she gestured toward the wall.  
  
"Well, now I'm here," he said, giving her a half-smile. And, I'm afraid it's not a dream. Charlie Dunn is still playing host to us." Grissom reached to his side and picked up a small stack of newspapers.  
  
"Easy there, Romeo. Don't be doing nothin' stupid," Charlie said, hoisting the beer to his mouth.  
  
"I'm just using the papers as a makeshift pillow. Her head needs to be elevated." Mainly so she has a better view when I crack your skull open, Grissom added to himself. He carefully lifted Sara's head, then, with his knee, awkwardly pushed the newspapers into place. He noted the soft whimper she'd made when he touched her. "How's your head?"  
  
"Fine, Grissom, fine. Have you unionized the roaches yet?"  
  
"You'll have to explain that to me later, Sara. But yes, I have noticed the plethora of crawling creatures. And no, to answer what I'm certain is your next question, they do not make me feel more at home." She laughed absently and his bound hands explored her badly bruised jaw.  
  
"Ow! Stop it, Griss. That hurts."  
  
"Sorry. I was trying to determine if it was fractured."  
  
"Take an x-ray, it'll last longer," she giggled.  
  
Grissom merely raised an eyebrow and rested his fingers on the side of her neck. Though her pulse was strong, he also noted it was markedly slow.  
  
His own pulse increased as his mind went into overdrive. "How many times has he injected you, Sara? Can you remember?"  
  
"Like I said, man, she's a regular vacuum cleaner with the smack. Sucks it right up. Just like she does with you, huh?" Charlie leered. He leaned back in his chair, watching every move Grissom made. He saw the CSI's jaw twitch several times and enjoyed every second of it.  
  
"Sara, do you remember?" he asked again, inspecting the inside of her left arm.  
  
"Coupla times maybe," she mumbled and then stared intently at Grissom's legs.  
  
"What?" he asked, curiosity piqued.  
  
"I've never seen you in a pair of jeans, Griss. Why is that?"  
  
"Well, I suppose there's a lot we don't know about each other," he said lightly as he leaned over to look at her right arm. Bile rose in his throat as he ran his fingers over the crook of Sara's elbow. He counted six needle marks lined neatly along a vein. Rage came over Grissom and he struggled to keep it in check. He lowered the arm gently to her side and turned his gaze to Charlie.  
  
"You could've killed her!"  
  
"What can I say, she's on the fast track," Charlie cackled. The fury in Grissom's eyes thrilled him and he raised the .38 again. "Gonna do somethin' about it?" he taunted.  
  
"You piece of human garbage!" Grissom spat. I will get you for this!"  
  
"Bring it on, Gilbeerrrt!"  
  
Sara had paid vague attention to the exchange. Somehow, she knew it was important. Sara cursed her mind yet again for fading in and out. With great effort, she raised her arm, her fingers finding Grissom's hands. He jumped at the unexpected touch and broke his gaze with Charlie to turn quickly toward her. Anger still flashed in his eyes as a concerned Sara looked up at him.  
  
"Don't," she said, wrapping her fingers even more tightly around him. Her touch brought him back to reality. The anger had flooded over him so rapidly. Wonderful, Grissom thought. I've lowered myself to his level and could have gotten us both killed. He squeezed Sara's hand in return. "I won't," he whispered.  
  
"Oh, isn't that just fuckin' beautiful. If you're done playin' touchy feely with your little ho, then crawl your ass back against the wall."  
  
Grissom took a deep breath and replied without looking up. "I need to make sure she doesn't have a punctured lung, Charlie."  
  
"Told you. I was an EMT. She's breathin' fine."  
  
"No, Charlie, she's not," he replied evenly.  
  
**************************  
  
Catherine and Brass took their seats in the SWAT Communications van. A somber looking Warrick, Nick and Greg were bunched shoulder to shoulder behind them. Greg reached out to touch a button on the control panel and Nick smacked his hand away. "Behave, Greg, before they make us leave."  
  
"Listen up guys," Catherine swiveled in her seat to face them. "You're here because of your brains, not because Jim and I enjoy being stuffed in like sardines."  
  
"What are we listening for, Cath?" Warrick asked.  
  
"Anything and everything. When this next call is placed, hopefully Gil or Sara can drop us more info. Five minds are better than one."  
  
"Uh, Cath, make that four and a half," Nick pointed to Greg.  
  
"Shut up, Nick, Greg countered, then addressed Catherine and Brass. "This Dunn guy may be a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but he's not a complete moron. How can Grissom just drop hints without him recognizing it?"  
  
"Dunn could be the poster boy for the 'This is Your Brain on Drugs' campaign, Brass stated.  
  
"To put it mildly," Catherine agreed.  
  
"Ok, ok," Warrick put his hands up, "so we get more info about their situation? I still don't want SWAT going all John Wayne and busting down the door. Sara and Griss get caught in the crossfire. Not acceptable, man."  
  
"The official position right now is negotiation. Unless we have reason to believe that they're in immediate danger, that won't change," Brass said.  
  
The SWAT officer at the console turned to Brass. "Captain, I'll have a clear line in approximately thirty seconds."  
  
TBC 


	12. Ok, Cut!

Hi guys. Thanks again for the reviews. It does mean a lot to know that people are reading the story. Sorry I couldn't get this chapter up sooner, but I'm getting over some minor writer's block. Plus, I found out this guy I really like got engaged, so that's a bummer. Oh well, enough of my personal angst. Let's get back to CSI angst. Hope you enjoy this chapter. I promise to post the next installment by Friday at the latest. I'm pretty sure it will be sooner.  
  
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Charlie was quickly losing patience with Gil Grissom. Worries clouded in and easily swamped his drug addled brain. The damn cop hadn't called back and he needed another fix. Fuck him, Charlie thought, I ain't waiting to shoot up for nobody. Everything was happening too fast. His ex was the bitch from hell, and he imagined her leading the cops to him. The fucking speed was making him edgy. All this hostage stuff hadn't even figured in the plan. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Charlie twitched his shoulders as he tried to keep himself focused on any sounds from the hallway while attempting to deal with the increasingly demanding Gil Grissom.  
  
"Her breathing's fine," Charlie muttered again.  
  
Grissom turned to Charlie, then focused on Sara. "Her breathing is labored and could be indicative of a collapsed lung. I'm trying to make this easier on all of us." Willing himself to relax and not become overly emotional, Grissom breathed deeply and rubbed Sara's arm.  
  
"You're pushing your luck, Grissom. Worry more about your own ass. That's your fucking problem. If you hadn't given testimony against me, then you and your friend wouldn't be here, would ya? Must suck for you, knowing you caused all this shit."  
  
"I'm trying to get us all out of here alive, Charlie."  
  
"Fuckin' good guy, huh? Well, she's almost done," he tilted his head toward Sara.  
  
Ignoring him, Grissom spoke. "You know, I don't care what your situation was or why you feel the need to do this. The only, and I emphasize only, thing I care about right know is helping Sara Sidle. The cops want to know that your hostages are alive. If that benefits you then so be it. I would think that you'd be looking for every break you can get."  
  
Charlie glared at Grissom, then backtracked to settle into the chair. "Go ahead, waist your fuckin' time. I don't give a shit. Not like you'll be cuddlin' with her anytime soon."  
  
Grissom turned his full attention to Sara. Her eyes met his. "Sara, I'm going to lift your shirt to check your ribs. Please don't hit me." She smiled at his joke and he raised her shirt carefully, revealing severe bruising along her right side.  
  
"Oooh, take it all off," Charlie catcalled.  
  
Grissom's fingers barely touched her skin and she whimpered in pain. "I know it hurts, Sara. I'm sorry. He ran his fingers lightly over her ribcage and felt a nauseating crunchiness toward the bottom. Fear creased Grissom's brow and he watched as Sara bit her lip to cut off the cry that came from her throat. His own throat constricted and again the depth of pain he felt shook him to the core. He lowered her shirt and brought his hands to the uninjured side of her face, stroking her skin gently. Grissom's own face cleared of everything except a small grin for her. He didn't need Sara to see worry in his eyes. He knew it was an exercise in futility, though. She was the most perceptive person he'd ever met.  
  
"Sara, for now, don't take deep breaths and try not to move. I don't think your lung is punctured, but you have two crushed ribs, at least." She nodded and her eyelids began to droop. His hands moved to her forehead and he quickly checked each of her pupils. Finding them equal, but unusually small from the heroin, Grissom sighed and laid his fingers alongside her cheek.  
  
"Sara, honey, I know you want to sleep, but I really need you to stay awake, ok? Please, try to keep your eyes open." She nodded at him. Grissom scanned the rest of her body and noted the patch of blood on her jeans. He turned his attention there.  
  
Sara's eyes sprung open and she peered at him curiously as his hands rested on her thigh. "Not now, Griss. I've got a headache."  
  
Startled, he moved his hands and looked at her. She managed to twitch the corner of her mouth slightly at him and he relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips.  
  
"He jabbed the needle there when he took me," she frowned.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Of course, if you want to leave your hands there, I'm sure it would help me stay awake."  
  
Grissom almost choked as he felt the laughter erupt from his belly. God it felt good to laugh, even in these circumstances, he thought. "Well, considering the circumstances, let's try talking, ok?"  
  
"Ok," she smiled. "I'll be waiting for good circumstances, though."  
  
Charlie was no longer amused. He quickly crossed to Grissom and hit the kneeling CSI in the face with the handle of the .38. "Get the fuck away from her!" he screamed.  
  
Sara reached to support Grissom's head as he crumpled forward. "Leave him alone, you goddamn lunatic. Griss, can you hear me? Grissom?"  
  
********************  
  
Brass rolled a pencil between his fingers as he listened to the first ring. Catherine and Warrick gave him a confident nod, while Nick and Greg, eyes focused on the console, seemed intent on the impending conversation. Brass pulled the pencil into his fist and tensed it to the breaking point. The line was picked-up and it crackled loudly over the speaker.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Charlie? This is Jim Brass."  
  
"My cop buddy. So what you got to tell me, man? Where's my car?"  
  
"I'm working on that. Just ironing out the arrangements, Charlie. How are CSI's Grissom and Sidle?"  
  
"Well, your boy here's a little pushy," Charlie sneered.  
  
"I need to know how they are? Can I speak to Sara Sidle?"  
  
"What the fuck have you given me!? Huh? You don't talk to nobody until you come through with a solid plan, motherfucker! I want a car and cash. You get me both, then call back!"  
  
"Charlie, you need to listen to me."  
  
"No, I don't! I got the gun and the hostages. You try anything an' they'll both be dead before you get near me. Understand?"  
  
The line clicked as Charlie cut off the connection.  
  
"Damnitt!" Brass spat. "I'll strangle the stupid SOB myself!"  
  
"Get in line, Jim," Catherine sighed.  
  
Warrick rested his hands on Catherine's shoulders as he addressed Brass. "Doesn't sound like he's leaving us much choice."  
  
"Brass, will the department actually give him a car?" Nick asked  
  
"The department will make a show of giving him the car and money, drawing it out as long as possible. Hell, they'll even park the damn thing in front of the building, but Dunn's not going anywhere."  
  
Catherine yawned and leaned her head back toward Warrick. "SWAT will take him out before he gets ten feet from the building."  
  
"Yeah, well,' Greg sputtered, "as long as he doesn't take out Sara and Grissom. Shouldn't they be the primary concern, Brass?"  
  
"They are, Greg."  
  
"Maybe with you, Jim. It's SWAT that I'm worried about jumping the gun, so to speak," Catherine said rubbing her eyes.  
  
Warrick leaned over her shoulder. "Why don't you grab a nap, Cath. You've been going non-stop."  
  
"So has everyone else," she retorted.  
  
Brass gave her a long look. "You're exhausted, Catherine. Go grab an hour in one of the Tahoes. We'll wake you if anything breaks."  
  
"No offense, Jim, but you've looked better yourself. I'll go along while you brief SWAT."  
  
"Jeez, and we call Sara stubborn," Nick laughed.  
  
"Well, if I've learned anything working with you, Catherine, it's how damned headstrong you are," Brass smirked. "Let's go."  
  
TBC 


	13. I Need More Emotion Here Can You Give M...

Hi guys. Sorry I didn't get this posted sooner. Thanks for the reviews on the previous chapters. Here's the next installment of "Psycho with a Syringe." Hope you like it. I will warn you that it's even more of an angst-fest (if that's possible). Also, I'm not all that certain about the half-life of heroin, so on the off chance that there are heroin addicts following this story, please ignore any and all dosing information. Yes, that last sentence was tongue in cheek. Enjoy and please review.  
  
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Grissom had rolled off of Sara's shoulder after the blow from Charlie. The only thing that saved him from further abuse was the call from Brass. He'd caught bits and pieces as Charlie shouted into the phone. It had been a short conversation. Running his tongue over his lower lip, he tasted blood. Grissom took several deep breaths and willed the fuzziness to clear from his head. After hanging up, Charlie had stomped off to the kitchen area, muttering to himself like a petulant teenager.  
  
"You ok?" Sara's mouth was so close to Grissom's ear that he jumped.  
  
He turned his head and was eye to eye with her.  
  
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," she apologized.  
  
"I, uh, it's all right. I was just a bit out of it," he stammered.  
  
"He hit you pretty hard." She slowly raised a hand and brushed her index finger gently along the side of his mouth. "You're bleeding."  
  
"Yeah," he replied hoarsely, raising his hands and wiping the blood from his mouth. "I uh, didn't mean to fall on you. Did I hurt you?"  
  
"Grissom, I'm guessing I've got a concussion, maybe a cracked jaw and not ten minutes ago you told me I had some crushed ribs." She paused to allow herself a ragged breath. "How in the hell could you possibly hurt me more?" she giggled.  
  
"Not funny," he sighed audibly and briefly clasped her hand with his bound ones. He couldn't help but note the cold clamminess. Damn, damn, damn. He had to get them out of here. She was still having trouble breathing and was more than likely in the early stages of shock. Ironically, Grissom thought, the heroin might have actually forestalled the shock by alleviating some of the pain that she had to be experiencing.  
  
Sara saw the concern creasing his brow and quickly stopped laughing. "Sorry, "I think it's the drugs."  
  
"I think you're right," he answered, pushing himself awkwardly to his knees. "The half-life of heroin, or morphine, which is what it becomes when it's broken down in the body, is eight hours. He's given you substantially more than a person of even average body mass can easily tolerate.  
  
"You didn't hurt me, Grissom," she said softly, interrupting his scientific diatribe. Sara peered up at him, only to find his gaze shifting to Charlie.  
  
Grissom toyed with several ideas as he watched Dunn load a syringe with morphine, then meth. Using the momentary distraction that the ritual allowed, he crawled a few feet from Sara and sat against the wall closest to her. In Grissom's mind, it offered several advantages over his previous seat across the room. It put him between Sara, Charlie and the front door. If SWAT came in, he could, at the very least, cover her with his body. The CSI had also noted a disposable lighter not more than a few inches from his outstretched legs. It was partially covered by a newspaper. Grissom would try to kick it toward himself at the next opportunity.  
  
Having finished shooting-up, Charlie looked over at Grissom. "Get back over there," he spat, motioning to the far wall.  
  
"Can't. I'm dizzy. You hit me remember." Grissom rubbed his temples to emphasize the point, hoping that Charlie was buying it. "Just let me rest here for a few minutes."  
  
Charlie's features scrunched into a twisted grin. "It's ok, man. I know you jus' wanna be close to the little woman when she sucks her last breath. Gimme some credit. I'm a romantic too, Gilbert."  
  
Grissom allowed himself several brief revenge fantasies, not the least of which involved his fist connecting repeatedly with the bloodied face of the demented fuck while the man begged for mercy. Seeing Charlie's eyes glaze over and his head droop slightly forward into the familiar drug-induced nod, Grissom chanced to get the lighter. He stretched his left leg as far as he could, carefully resting his shoe on top of the prize. Slowly, pausing several times to glance at Dunn, he edged the lighter closer to his hands until he was finally able to grasp it. Charlie stirred in his chair and Grissom surreptitiously stuffed the lighter into the front pocket of his jeans. Next to him, Sara moaned softly and he swiveled his head toward her.  
  
"I'm right here, Sara," Grissom said. Surprisingly, she raised an eyebrow at him and cast her eyes briefly on the pocket in which he'd put the lighter. Understanding and relief washed over him and he met her eyes. They'd always said volumes with their eyes. Inexplicably, Grissom felt warmer than he had in days.  
  
Charlie rolled his head back in the chair and grinned at Sara. "Sounds like you're in pain, Miss CSI. I can help, ya know."  
  
The cold came back and Grissom sought desperately to distract Dunn as he saw him reach for a small baggie. "Brass should be calling back any minute, Charlie. You'll have to talk to him this time."  
  
"Don't hafta do nothin'" he replied distractedly as he began cooking a spoonful of heroin.  
  
"Brass will work with you if you talk to him. You can still get out of this, Dunn. Tell him what you want," Grissom spoke rapidly, trying to keep at bay, the sudden alarm he felt  
  
Charlie rested the spoon on the table and ripped open a new syringe. He leered at Sara as he drew the drug into the needle. "Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna make you feel all better real soon."  
  
Despite trying to maintain his composure, Grissom could feel the blood draining from his features and felt his heartbeat accelerate. "No, she's had enough, Charlie. Remember what I said about dead hostages? You remember? You're giving up a chance to get out of here."  
  
Grissom noticed that Sara hadn't uttered a word. He glanced at her nervously, and found her staring at the syringe with a mix of resignation, pain and fear. A thin film of perspiration glistened on her face. For some reason, her stare almost frightened him more than if he'd turned to find her unconscious. No, Sara, you can't give up, his mind pleaded with her. Don't give up. I swear to God I'll get you out of this. I swear I won't let him hurt you anymore. Grissom renewed his efforts to loosen the tape binding his wrists.  
  
"This is just a little pain management, for your girlfriend. You don't wanna see her suffer now do ya?"  
  
"Listen to me, Dunn. You'll overdose her. Stop and think for a minute, Charlie!"  
  
Removing the .38 from his waistband, Charlie stood and pointed it at Grissom's head. "I told you I was an EMT!" he yelled while cocking the gun's hammer. "I know about this stuff,' his voice lowered and took on an insanely pleading quality. "I know about medicine."  
  
"Then you know you can't do this," Grissom replied, fighting to keep his voice calm.  
  
"I know I can blow your fuckin' head off your shoulders, Grissom."  
  
"Charlie," Sara spoke hoarsely, "put the gun away. I'll take the injection. Just put the gun away."  
  
"Sara, no!" Anger welled up suddenly in Grissom and his mind seemed to spin out of control. "Don't you do this, goddamnit! Don't you dare do this because some lunatic is pointing a gun at me!"  
  
Seeing the shock and hurt on Sara's face, he realized that he'd spoken aloud. Grissom's heart pounded and he closed his eyes. She didn't understand. The thoughts continued, albeit in his head. Don't you dare do this to save me. I don't want to live if you die.  
  
Charlie's face had broken into a twisted grin as he lowered the gun. "See, Grissom, she likes it," he sing-songed. She wants it. She doesn't want you. She wants IT!"  
  
Unable to meet Sara's eyes, Grissom focused again on Charlie. "You sick, son-of-a-bitch," he managed evenly. "You're a freak and a loser. You can't deal with me man to man, can you, Dunn? Washed out of everything you've ever tried, haven't you?"  
  
"Grissom, don't," Sara's voice almost broke.  
  
"Stay outta this, Sidle." This is between Charlie and me," Grissom replied tersely.  
  
"Nice try, but I'd listen to the bitch if I was you, Grissom. Your bullshit ain't workin' with me. I'm crazy, remember."  
  
"No, Dunn, you're not crazy. You're pathetic and ignorant. Don't confuse your personal shortcomings with insanity. It does an injustice to the truly insane."  
  
"Shut-up! You think you're so fuckin' smart an' shit, huh?! Rage flowed through Charlie and brandishing the .38, he approached Sara.  
  
TBC 


	14. I Can Give You More Angst

Hi guys. I guess people are still reading this. Thanks to those who reviewed. I'll be wrapping it up in one or two more chapters. Enjoy.  
  
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"This whole scene is beginning to feel messed up," Nick sighed and stretched the muscles in his neck and back.  
  
"Don't I know it," Warrick echoed his sentiments. "You trust Brass on this?"  
  
"Yeah, man, I do," Nick gave a nod.  
  
"It's all moving so damn slow. And Cath is trying. And it's still moving slow," Warrick took the lid off his third cup of coffee in the past hour and braved a healthy swallow.  
  
"I know. Gotta have faith I guess," Nick sighed.  
  
Both men turned as Catherine and Brass crossed the parking lot toward them.  
  
"Guys," Catherine greeted. The dark circles under her eyes showed how little sleep she'd had. Her appearance wasn't lost on Warrick or Nick.  
  
"Looks like you need this more than I do, Cath," Warrick said, offering her his coffee. She gave him a slight smile and took the cup.  
  
Brass rolled his neck, hoping to alleviate the stiffness. "I just talked to Martinez. He's heading the SWAT command here. He doesn't think Dunn is negotiable."  
  
"Big surprise there," Warrick said, keeping his eyes on Catherine.  
  
"Hear Jim out, will you please?" Catherine frowned in exasperation and rubbed her forehead.  
  
"Thank you. I've convinced Martinez to wait on any aggressive counter measures until I talk to Dunn again. I'll call in ten minutes and tell him that the car will be here in an hour."  
  
Nick nodded. "Well, that at least buys us some time."  
  
"To say the least," Warrick said softly. "You ok, Cath?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"I've gotta agree with Warrick on this. I know you're tough, but you haven't slept in over forty-eight hours. That's crazy, Catherine," Brass said firmly.  
  
"Yeah, ok, but it's not crazy for you guys, right?"  
  
"Catherine, you know we've all grabbed a couple of hours when we could. I haven't seen you even sit down for more than a couple minutes," Warrick sighed.  
  
"You're outnumbered, babe," Nick grinned at her.  
  
"Know what, guys. I've tried to catch a nap here and there. Every time I close my eyes, I don't like what I see. So, if it's all the same to you, I'll stay awake until I know Gil and Sara are safe," she replied tersely.  
  
Warrick shook his head, knowing nothing he said would convince her to sleep.  
  
Brass, trying a different tact, leveled a no nonsense gaze at her; one he usually reserved for the interrogation room. "We're all trying to do the same thing, Cath. Don't make me worry about you too.  
  
Catherine, caught off guard, simply nodded. "Yeah, ok. After this next call, I'll grab an hour in the Tahoe, if it gets the three of you off my back."  
  
"There's a cot in the next SWAT van. Use that," Brass gestured, amazed that he'd convinced her to do anything. Will wonders never cease, he thought.  
  
  
  
*****************************  
  
Grissom continued struggling with the duct tape as Charlie, syringe in one hand and gun in the other, now stood over Sara.  
  
"I'm gonna shoot her with one or the other, Grissom. Hey, ya know, that's pretty funny, Gilbert. 'Shoot her with one or the other.' You move and I guarantee it'll be the gun."  
  
"You're so anxious to share the drug, Charlie, then try it out on me," Grissom bargained. "I had a friend in college with a habit. I always wondered what he saw in it." Grissom knew he was rambling but seemed unable to stop.  
  
"Why'd I want you to experience pleasure, motherfucker"? Charlie looked at him with disgust.  
  
"Get away from her, Dunn. Use your head. SWAT could be outside the door right now and you're busy getting some pseudo-sexual kick with a needle."  
  
"Oooh, big words from scared little Gilbert," Charlie smiled snidely, then turned his attention back to Sara. "You know, I've got an even better idea for you, Miss CSI. You're gonna shoot this yourself. I'll watch." He extended the hypodermic to Sara.  
  
The ice was back in Grissom's stomach as he searched Sara's face, desperate for her to look at him.  
  
Sara felt the blue eyes bore into her. They cut through the haze, the pain and the hurt, straight into her soul. She couldn't look at him. Damn you, Grissom, she thought. Stop staring at me. I can't look at you now. Stop staring. I won't look at you. Stop staring. If I look at you I'll lose my courage. If I look at you, he'll know. He's not that stupid. Grissom. Stop. Please? Sara tried to keep her hand steady as she raised it.  
  
Grissom's heart fell into his stomach as he watched Sara shakily take the syringe from Dunn. His throat failed him, but the words echoed in his head. No, Sara. No. Look at me. Please, just look at me so I know you won't do this. Sara. No. Please look at me so I know. Sara. Stop. Please?  
  
"Good girl," Charlie crooned as Sara grabbed the surgical tubing he tossed at her. She quickly bound it around her upper arm.  
  
Watching the nightmare unfold, Grissom's daze cleared. "Sara, no! Don't you fucking do this! You hear me?! Goddamnit, no!" She showed no reaction to his words with the exception of her jaw tightening.  
  
Sara rolled the syringe between her fingers as Charlie turned to sneer at Grissom. Suddenly, her left leg shot out, catching the inside of Dunn's right knee. The blow was well placed, staggering him briefly. She lurched at him with the hypodermic. Charlie made a grab for her wrist and bent it backwards. Sara cried out and he shoved her to the ground, the syringe falling harmlessly at his feet. Sara gasped and tried to cushion her ribs as she fell.  
  
The instant Grissom saw Sara kick Dunn, he'd made his own move toward him. Lunging forward, he attempted to drive a shoulder into Charlie's legs and at least get him off his feet. Having disposed of Sara for the time being, Dunn sidestepped Grissom and kicked the CSI savagely in the stomach. Unable to breathe, Grissom fought panic as he doubled over. He recognized the sensation of having the wind knocked out of him and struggled against completely blacking out.  
  
Charlie grabbed the syringe from the ground and knelt over Sara. Her breath came in short gasps and she was obviously still disoriented after her brief struggle. Charlie grasped her arm and plunged the needle into flesh.  
  
"Stupid, bitch," he spat at her as he emptied the drug into her arm. Charlie stood and watched as Sara's head rolled to the side and her eyes closed. Satisfied, he stepped across to Grissom, who was slowly regaining his breath.  
  
"Now, was that really worth it, cowboy? Who's pathetic now, motherfucker?" Charlie tucked the .38 into his waistband. "All that macho shit over a little bitty shot. Your pretty young thing ain't feelin' no pain."  
  
Grissom's mind reeled. God, no. No. He didn't do it. Heroin. Sara. Dead? No! The words and images came nonstop, as Dunn retreated again to the kitchen. Grissom raised his head and braced his shoulders against the wall, terrified of what he would find upon turning toward Sara. His shaking limbs seemed to have a mind of their own as he leaned closer and his eyes took in her form. She was so still, he thought. A sob almost escaped Grissom's throat as he watched her chest rise and fall. He knew the tears were close, but he'd never give Dunn the satisfaction. Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, he noted that the kick didn't seem to have done him lasting harm. Good. He had to touch her. He had to reach her and touch her. Sara was alive and the desire to feel any part of her was completely overwhelming. Without giving Charlie a second thought, Grissom edged his body closer to Sara. Finally, able to clasp her hand in his, he leaned back in relief.  
  
"You just don't learn, do ya, Grissom?" Dunn taunted, opening another beer.  
  
"I learned that you're afraid to fire the gun because you know SWAT would be on your ass in two seconds."  
  
"Took you all this time to figure that out, huh?"  
  
"No, Dunn. It took that long to prove my hypothesis."  
  
"Don't matter. I'll still use it if I have to."  
  
"I know," Grissom replied.  
  
"I'm goin' out in a blaze of glory an' all that if I gotta."  
  
Grissom squeezed Sara's hand tightly, hoping that she would respond to the pain and give some reaction.  
  
"I don't care, man," Charlie laughed at him. "Sit there with your slut. Hell, that load may still kill her. Spend some quality time together why dontcha."  
  
Grissom pulled Sara closer to him and gently rested her head against his thigh. He brushed his fingers upward on her face and brought his mouth closer to her ear. "Sara? I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm right here. I've got you. I'm holding you. No one is ever going to take you away. Ever. I love you."  
  
Grissom lowered his chin to the top of Sara's head and closed his eyes. Strangely, he felt at peace and his mind had never been clearer.  
  
The ring of the cell phone pierced the air and Charlie reached for it.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	15. Oh, yeah, there's always the relationshi...

Thank you for the reviews. I'm glad that you guys still like this story. I will be wrapping it up soon. Perhaps my estimate of two chapters was a bit ill considered. It will wrap, in two-four chapters. I've been working on a possible sequel, but don't know yet. I guess it depends on if you guys want one. Thanks again for the reviews. I really do appreciate them. Enjoy this chapter.  
  
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In the SWAT communications van, Catherine and Brass had their usual seats, with Warrick and Nick standing behind them. The call was on its fifth ring before it was answered.  
  
"Is this, Brass?" Charlie Dunn's voice came across the speaker.  
  
"Yeah, Charlie. Tell me how things are going for you."  
  
"Where's my car and the money?"  
  
"Good news, Charlie. The car will be here in under an hour."  
  
"And the cash? I need cash. I told you I wanted cash, man."  
  
"It'll be in the car. Twenty thousand," Brass said evenly.  
  
"No. I'll need more.  
  
"It's a lot of money, Charlie. I went to bat for you. Twenty thousand dollars will go a long way."  
  
"I want more."  
  
Brass shook his head in frustration. "How long are you willing to wait? You want more? Well that's gonna take cutting through more red tape. I can have the car and the twenty-k ready to go within the hour, Charlie. You're a smart guy. Take it while you can."  
  
"It better be in tens and twenties, asshole? Nothing bigger. Ya got it?"  
  
"Absolutely, Charlie." Brass took a deep breath and then plunged ahead. "How are CSI's Grissom and Sidle?"  
  
"They're good. What kind of car you got me for me?"  
  
"Charlie, we're holding up our end of the bargain. I need to speak with Gil Grissom."  
  
"I said he's good, man. Don't you fuckin' trust me?"  
  
"Yeah, well, if I can't talk to him, Charlie, all bets are off. We go back to square one."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dunn's voice rose. Several seconds passed with virtually no sound over the speaker. Catherine clenched her fist while starring at the console. Warrick's hand fell to Catherine's shoulder as Brass attempted to give her a reassuring smile. It wasn't altogether successful.  
  
"Brass, It's Grissom."  
  
"How are you, Gil?"  
  
"I'm tired. Otherwise ok. Just sitting here sharing the phone with Charlie."  
  
"Understood. How's Sara doing?"  
  
The slight sigh could be heard over the speaker. "Sara needs medical attention. And as soon as possible," Grissom's voice was steady, but he couldn't keep the emotion from coming across.  
  
Brass rubbed his chin. "Charlie, I know you're listening. Will you let us help her?"  
  
"She's cool, motherfucker! I think I said they're both good. Grissom just wants his girlfriend outta here. You need to worry about getting' my car and money out here, Brass."  
  
"The car will be there, don't worry. Just remember, Charlie, if Grissom and Sidle don't walk out with you, then you can kiss your deal goodbye."  
  
"Oh, they'll walk out just fine, Brass. You call me when my ride's ready."  
  
"Charlie, let me speak with Sara Sidle."  
  
"Don't fuck with me, man. You'll get 'em both when I drop them outside of town. 'Course, nobody better follow me. Got it?"  
  
The call was disconnected.  
  
"Damnitt," Brass muttered.  
  
"Sounds to me like Sara is pretty bad," Nick stated in an unusually low voice.  
  
"I'm with you, man," Warrick sighed.  
  
"Catherine spun in her chair and addressed the team. "Yeah, I agree. Sara's hurt, probably bad. I caught the inflection in Gil's voice." She looked at Brass.  
  
"What?" he shrugged. "I agree with everything just said. Not much any of us can do about it right now," he frowned and rubbed his face. "I hate this."  
  
"What're you going to tell Martinez?" Catherine sighed.  
  
"He's got the tapes, Cath. I don't know. He'll probably call off negotiations."  
  
"No, he can't," Warrick stated.  
  
"Yeah, Warrick, he can," Catherine answered, rolling her head back in a semi-circle.  
  
"Ok, Cath, you're overdue for that nap," Brass stated and started to stand.  
  
Warrick put his arm around Catherine and guided her toward the door. "I'll make sure she gets there."  
  
"That's very big of you, Warrick," Brass said dryly as he returned to his seat.  
  
Nick glanced at Brass, but couldn't even begin to read the blank slate that his face became.  
  
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Charlie gave a snarling smile to Grissom. "Your cop friend is a fucking prick. He's trying to screw me up. Ain't gonna happen."  
  
Grissom had focused on Sara when Charlie grabbed the phone from his hand. She was covered in a light coating of perspiration and he wiped his fingers gently across her forehead. She was breathing, but she was so still. Unmoving. His mind raced with thoughts he wished to speak. 'Please, wake up. Please, just wake up and smile at me, Sara. You're scaring me. Please? I'm so sorry for all of this. You're scaring me. This is my fault. If you give up I don't want to live. Fight, Sara. Please fight. I'm still holding you. You're scaring me so much. I love you. You're still breathing. Please fight. Please, Sara?'  
  
"Wake her ass up," Charlie growled.  
  
"I'm trying," Grissom replied, barely containing his anger.  
  
"Try harder, dipshit. I need her up and walking in less than an hour."  
  
Grissom was incredulous. "Just how in the hell do you expect Sara to walk out of here? She's unconscious."  
  
"That's your problem, Grissom. Wake her ass up! She likes you, man. Why, I don't fuckin' know. Get her ass awake!"  
  
"I'm trying, Dunn." Grissom replied as he rubbed Sara's cheek.  
  
"Try harder. Trust me, motheufcker, if you don't wake her, I will. And, my methods might be kinda harsh."  
  
Ignoring Charlie, Grissom grasped Sara's face with his bound hands. "Sara? Wake up. You need to wake up for me." Getting no reaction, he moved his hands to just below her collarbone and ground two knuckles on his right hand into her flesh. He knew it was a technique used by doctors to rouse unresponsive patients. Sara groaned and tried to twist her body away. Grissom released a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding.  
  
"Good, Sara. Come on, honey, open your eyes. It's me, Grissom."  
  
He was rewarded as her eyelids parted slowly.  
  
"Very good. Come on. Can you say something for me?"  
  
"Leave me alone, Grissom. Turn off the damn light and go back to sleep," Sara managed.  
  
"Good. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but good," Grissom could feel the blush creeping up his neck and could hear Charlie's snicker from across the room.  
  
"Stay awake for me, Sara. Do you remember where you are?"  
  
"It's my dream, Griss. You don't get to ask questions. You just get to take your clothes off," she giggled.  
  
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Grissom was by turn, embarrassed and thrilled. She dreamed about him. Well, he reasoned, it was under the influence, but she dreamed about him. If her previous ramblings were any indication he might even have a place in her heart. God, he hoped so. Grissom felt guilt wash over him at thinking such thoughts while they were both stuck in this hellhole. Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, he rubbed Sara's arm briskly, determined to keep her conscious. He cast a quick look in Charlie's direction and was more than happy to see him occupied with packing his various drugs and paraphernalia into a knapsack.  
  
"Come on, Sara, where are you?"  
  
"Nope. My dream. No questions," she smiled.  
  
"What if I want to ask questions?"  
  
"Save 'em for your own dreams," she giggled again. "If you even dream, Grissom."  
  
"I dream, Sara," he replied softly, not even attempting to cover the hurt in his tone.  
  
"Bugs don't count," she countered and tried to move away from the almost painful rubbing of her arm. "Stop it, Griss. I don't like this dream. That hurts."  
  
"It's supposed to. I'm trying to keep you conscious."  
  
I'm serious dammit, just stop. I've had it with you hurting me," she slurred and tried to push herself away from him. "Never telling me what you mean. Never meaning what you tell me."  
  
He fought Sara gently, trying to keep her from doing further damage to her battered body.  
  
Stopping suddenly, Sara gasped and struggled to take a breath.  
  
Grissom relaxed his hands on her. "Sara, what's wrong? Sara?"  
  
"Hurts."  
  
Grissom leaned closer to her ear and tried to keep his emotions in check in order to help her. "Small breaths. Take small breaths, Sara. Just listen to my voice. Just listen to my voice and take small breaths. You're doing fine, Sara."  
  
"Grissom? Are you real? You're not in my head?" she gasped.  
  
"I'm here, Sara. Just continue taking small breaths, all right? I'm here for you. Is it your ribs or your chest?"  
  
"Both," she sighed. "The drug helps with the pain, but it still hurts," she admitted as her focus on Grissom sharpened a bit.  
  
He noticed her breathing was a little easier and sighed in relief. "You're doing fine, Sara. Just keep taking small breaths. Do you know where you are?" he ventured again.  
  
"We're still here, aren't we?"  
  
"I'm afraid so. How do you feel?"  
  
She gazed up into Grissom's eyes, then focused downward. "Fine."  
  
"Fine, huh? I'm glad to hear it, Sara. Just keep taking shallow breaths, ok?"  
  
"I like your blue jeans."  
  
"I'm beginning to sense that," he grinned.  
  
"You should wear them more often."  
  
"I might."  
  
"Good," she sighed and started to close her eyes. "You look kinda rugged."  
  
"Wake up, Sara. C'mon, don't make me hurt you again."  
  
"You wouldn't," she sighed.  
  
"Yes, I would," he said evenly. "If it means keeping you with me, I'll continue to hurt you."  
  
"If I stay awake will you wear jeans more often?"  
  
"I'll wear jeans every day for the rest of my life if you stay awake."  
  
"I'm awake, Grissom, but I hurt."  
  
"I know you do." He brushed the hair back from her face and then cradled her head. "I know you hurt. If I could take the pain away I would. I swear I would."  
  
TBC 


	16. Ok, from the top, Aquaman?

Hi guys. I can't thank you enough for the reviews. They really are a great boost. This chapter is a bit longer than usual and I owe it all to your positive feedback. I will warn you that it probably does give new meaning to the word angst. I've tried to temper it with humor. I'm hoping it passes for humor anyway. Enjoy. And please, continue to review. Thanks.  
  
  
  
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Jim Brass stood next to SWAT Commander Ray Martinez, while Warrick and Nick leaned against a nearby police cruiser. The two CSI's feigned disinterest in the conversation between the men.  
  
"Ok, so we've got the car here in thirty minutes. As far from the building as possible I'd guess?" Brass asked.  
  
"Right," Martinez confirmed. "I've got six sharpshooters positioned high and away. Plus, three containment units in the building. Any of 'em have a clean shot, he's history."  
  
"And what if they don't have a clean shot?" Warrick spoke up quickly.  
  
"And you are?" Martinez looked at him with mild disdain.  
  
"Warrick Brown, CSI. Pleased to meet you too."  
  
"He and Nick Stokes are part of Gil Grissom's team," Brass added.  
  
"Let us do our job, Mr. Brown," Martinez frowned and lit a cigarette. "I don't tell you guys how to take semen samples," he cocked his head toward Nick and Warrick.  
  
Nick scowled and took a step forward. Warrick and Brass quickly cut in front of the CSI.  
  
"Come on," Warrick said, placing a hand on Nick's arm. "Don't let him get to you, man.  
  
"They don't even belong here, Brass," Martinez took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke from the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Excuse me?" The voice came from Catherine. She continued walking, past Nick, Warrick and Brass, until she was face to shoulders with Martinez. "Who the hell are you to tell me that I don't belong here? And, before you ask, I'm Catherine Willows, CSI. I've worked with this department for over six years and you will treat me with respect." My colleagues deserve no less. And that goes for the two still in that building. Don't you fucking forget it."  
  
Martinez met her gaze without expression, then dropped and crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe. "Control your people, Brass," he said flatly and walked away.  
  
"You just remember who's in there, man," Warrick shouted. "We do and we're watching."  
  
"Jesus, Cath," Brass sighed. "What the hell was that? I thought you were supposed to be sleeping?"  
  
"I did sleep, Jim. Twenty-eight minutes. Thanks, the cot was lovely. And that," she pointed at the retreating back of Martinez, "is a major asshole with underlying emotional disorders. I've never liked that smug bastard."  
  
"Too much caffeine for you, Cath," Nick noted with a slight smile. "But, thanks for the speech. I liked it."  
  
"Man, you know this is one lady who's always got our backs," Warrick echoed and draped his arm around her.  
  
"I think she may have caused that poor bastard's testicles to shrink," Nick laughed.  
  
"Mine too," Brass rubbed his forehead, "think you can do the same thing for the tumor that's throbbing over my left eye?"  
  
"Don't tempt me, Jim," Catherine replied sweetly. "Here," she pulled a packet of Tylenol from her jacket and tossed it to him.  
  
"I know the man's a pompous jerk," Brass sighed. "He does, however, know what he's doing.  
  
"He'd better," Nick said, glancing at his watch, 'cause he'll be doing it in under thirty minutes."  
  
*****************************  
  
  
  
Charlie was slowly going through his knapsack, muttering and appearing to sort and re-sort his drugs and paraphernalia. His actions were jerky and repetitive, almost obsessive in nature; this wasn't lost on Grissom. Dunn allowed himself a quick look at the CSI, who still supported Sara's head on his lap.  
  
"She don't look awake to me, hotshot."  
  
"She's awake, Charlie. I told you I could handle this," Grissom replied evenly. "Looks like you've got your hands full making sure your drugs are in order."  
  
"Well, if you ain't handled it in another few minutes, then I'll just give her some meth. Perk her lazy ass right up," Charlie growled, but returned quickly to his task.  
  
Grissom ignored Dunn and rubbed Sara's arm. He paused at her wrist and noticed it was a nasty shade of purple on the inside. His mind flashed back to Dunn grabbing the wrist and twisting it back. He cringed and stroked it softly. Sara didn't even flinch. He noticed her eyes were almost closed again and moved his hands to her shoulder. Grissom had stretched and flexed the tape that bound his wrists so that he was now able to spread his hands and fingers further apart. He was mindful that Charlie not see his greater mobility.  
  
"Sara, come on. You promised me you'd stay awake. Open your eyes, Sidle."  
  
"I'm starting to hate you, Grissom. Go away," she said softly.  
  
"Hate me all you want, but you will stay awake."  
  
"Jeez, Griss, is that an order or something?"  
  
"Yes, it is," he spoke directly into her ear.  
  
"So, if I die, you're gonna write me up for insubordination?" she laughed. "Ecklie would love it."  
  
Grissom frowned. "Don't talk like that. You are not going to die. You can't," he stated simply."  
  
"And why's that?"  
  
"It's simply not allowed, Sara. You're too damn stubborn."  
  
"Cite your source."  
  
"The department personnel manual. Chapter four, section thirty-two, subsection three point twenty-two," he clarified.  
  
"Can you quote?"  
  
"Of course I can," Grissom smiled then paused. "Brilliant, brown-eyed criminalists shall not, for any reason, perish while resting a concussed head against the leg of their supervisor while in a hostage situation.  
  
"Oh really? Well, from my point of view, she slurred tiredly, "things aren't looking too good. Unless you've got a Superman shirt on under your clothes," she giggled.  
  
"I never liked Superman."  
  
"Lemme guess, uh Batman or, no, no, no, Spiderman, obviously. Am I right?"  
  
"Both actually."  
  
"Spiderman I get, but why Batman? Did he somehow satisfy your interest in self-propelled vertebrate creatures? "Cause, sadly there was never a Flying Squirrelman."  
  
"I always wondered about that," he managed with a straight face.  
  
"Ok, Griss, why Batman?"  
  
"I liked his car."  
  
"The Batmobile? You liked the Batmobile?"  
  
"Yes, I did," he said almost defensively. "I had eclectic interests even as a child."  
  
Sara laughed. "Well," she took a painful breath, "that seems right."  
  
Grissom wiped his hands across Sara's forehead, clearing the thin film of perspiration that had formed. "I'm glad you think so," he whispered, then surprised himself by softly kissing her forehead. Oddly, he felt no regret or embarrassment at the action. He studied Sara's face, which showed no reaction. Grissom surmised she either hadn't felt it or was choosing to ignore it.  
  
"Personally, I found Aquaman irresistible," she continued on her train of thought. "Tightest costume of all the superheroes."  
  
"I see," Grissom smiled.  
  
"Oh, so did I," she grinned. Sara shifted to a more comfortable position, then shut her eyes tightly, as if afraid. "Grissom, why'd you kiss me?" She felt his body shift briefly and she braced herself for his answer.  
  
"Sara," he paused.  
  
"I don't want your pity," Grissom.  
  
"That's not what it was."  
  
"Don't lie to me, Griss. You never lie to me."  
  
"I need to tell you something," Sara.  
  
"Jeez, I must be about to kick off, huh?"  
  
"Don't say that," Grissom spoke harshly. He felt her body stiffen and immediately wanted his words back. "Sara, I'm sorry. That didn't come out right."  
  
She nodded and looked into his eyes. The helplessness and fear she saw there again came as a shock.  
  
He reached for her hand. "I, uh, I'm not very good at expressing this kind of thing."  
  
"Don't do this to me," Grissom. "Just leave it. Please, just leave it."  
  
"I love you, Sara."  
  
"No," she sighed. "I told you not to do it. You feel sorry for me because I'm lying here looking like crap and you feel guilt or empathy or some other human emotion you're just now realizing you possess." She paused to take in a shaky breath. "You do not love me, Grissom."  
  
"I love you, Sara." He was glad that it seemed to get easier each time he said it. He could certainly get used to that.  
  
"Damnitt, stop saying that! You love your job and your bugs and the perfect order of your life. You do not love me."  
  
"Yeah, Sara, I do," he gave her a wide smile. Yes, he thought, it was getting easier. An added bonus was the comforting warmth he felt from his head to his toes.  
  
She decided to meet his eyes, and found herself surprised and intrigued by the complete clarity now shining there. "You do?"  
  
"I meant what I said and I said what I meant."  
  
"Dr. Seuss," she smiled.  
  
"Exactly, Sara." He gave Charlie a quick look and found him still engrossed in his obsessive sorting and packing. Leaning down, he gently captured her lips with his. The kiss was brief, but unlike any he'd ever felt. "Sorry," he breathed, still close to her mouth, "I didn't mean to make your lip hurt more."  
  
"Not possible," she replied and raised her lips to brush his. "I love you too, Griss," she mumbled into his mouth.  
  
"Well, well, well, looks like you found a way to keep her awake huh, big boy?" Charlie's voice boomed from across the room. "Hell, I coulda done that myself. Mind if I give it a try, Gilbert?"  
  
Grissom tensed noticeably and shot Dunn a look of pure hatred. "The car will be here soon, Charlie. Shouldn't you be shooting something into your arm so you don't keel over in the parking lot?"  
  
"Fuck you, Mr. High and Mighty. He moved threateningly toward Grissom, who pulled Sara even closer to him. Charlie stopped short as the cell rang. He hesitated briefly before returning to the table to answer the phone.  
  
"You'd better be tellin' me my car's almost here, asshole," he spat while taking the gun from his waistband.  
  
"Yeah, well, fifteen minutes is all you get, Brass! I'm tired of this shit," he growled, again approaching Grissom and Sara. "If it ain't there, then I'll be tossin' your pretty CSI's body into the hallway. You'll recognize her by the bullet hole in her head. I ain't fuckin' around anymore!" Charlie disconnected the call and punctuated his last sentence by backhanding Grissom's mouth. The blow stunned the CSI, but he remained sitting upright. Blood again streamed from his mouth; the previous cut having broken open.  
  
"You son-of-a-bitch," Sara gasped and grabbed Grissom's arm.  
  
"Looks like your boytoy won't be kissin' nothin' of yours for awhile," Charlie roared with laughter and returned to the kitchen to rip open the packaging on a new syringe. Sara watched with relief as he rolled up his own sleeve. Charlie pouted his lips at her, then nodded at a still-dazed Grissom. "You'd better have the bitch on her feet in ten minutes, Gilbert, or I will."  
  
Sara tried to reach up and wipe the blood from Grissom's mouth, but was stopped by a sharp pain in her chest. Her sudden gasp shook the cobwebs from his mind.  
  
"What's wrong, Sara? Are you all right?"  
  
"I don't know, Griss? Are you?"  
  
"I'm ok. Takes more than that to hurt Spiderman," he tried to grin at her while gently pulling her hand away from her ribs.  
  
"Oh, God, not superheroes again," she sighed.  
  
"You started it, Sidle," he chided gently. "Does your chest hurt?" She shook her head and Grissom rested his fingers against the side of her neck. He noticed the change immediately. Her pulse was now faint and rapid. Full-blown shock wouldn't be far away. His mind raced and he tried to keep the fear from his face.  
  
"I'm ok, Griss. You're not getting rid of me that easily."  
  
"Glad to hear it," he sighed and stroked her face. Grissom noted that her breathing had calmed somewhat. Casting a glance at Charlie, his mind continued to evaluate the best option for getting Sara and himself out of this situation. He could still feel the disposable lighter in his front pocket.  
  
TBC 


	17. I'm just about ready to blow this joint

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'm hella stoked that people took the time to tell me what they think. You guys rock. I meant to post this sooner, but I neglected to keep up with ff.net's advisories on down time.  
  
I'm sorry for the delay. Forgive me and please review, as it's how I know that people still read what I'm writing. I hope you like this chapter.  
*********************  
Grissom watched as Dunn began to fill the syringe with Morphine and Meth. Good, he thought, that should buy us a few peaceful minutes. He continued to consider options for getting them both safely free from Charlie Dunn. His mind played the possibilities. Grissom had been witness to hostage situations. He knew SWAT would be positioned in optimal locations. He knew the sharpshooters would take the head shot, if they had it. Aimed for the base of Dunn's skull, the bullet would severe the brain stem where it met the spinal cord; death was instantaneous and there was almost no chance for the perp to squeeze off a reflex shot. A perfect kill. That's what worried Grissom. There was no room for error. The chances of getting an unobstructed shot at Dunn would be slim. Thoughts of an errant bullet weighed heavily on the CSI's mind, while the prospect of taking preemptive action suddenly took on greater appeal. That, coupled with the fact that Sara's hand had become markedly colder.  
  
"You need me to come over there and haul the bitch to her feet?" Dunn drawled, his mind still on the drugs.  
  
"I'm going to sit her up, Charlie. We'll both be ready."  
  
"Better be, motherfucker. When she becomes not worth it, then I cap her and let those fuckers outside know I mean business."  
  
Dunn returned to the business of shooting up. Grissom noticed that he'd placed a bottle of rubbing alcohol on his lap and was now reaching for a bag of cotton balls. The bag was open and Charlie looked at it with disgust. "Not sterile," he muttered. Abruptly, he stood, sending the plastic bottle tumbling to the floor. "Gotta be clean," he raised his voice as he turned toward the kitchen counter. His foot absently kicked the alcohol and it skidded silently across the carpet, coming to rest a couple of feet from Grissom.  
  
"Sterile. Clean. You wouldn't understand. Nobody understands," Charlie continued rambling to himself as he searched a kitchen drawer. "You only know death."  
  
Grissom kept his eye on the bottle as Dunn triumphantly held up a few packets of pre-moistened alcohol swabs. He turned and waved them at the CSI's. "See, I knew I was missing something. I need these. Gotta be clean," he said calmly. "Do you even understand how important cleanliness is? I was a healthcare professional. You only know death, but I know medicine?"  
  
Grissom nodded to appease the man and watched as he turned and scrounged more packets from the drawer. He realized it was now or never and made a quick grab for the rubbing alcohol. Grissom had just managed to hide it between the small of his back and the wall when Dunn turned from the drawer and again took a seat at the table. He put all but one of the packets into the knapsack.  
  
Briskly, he opened the remaining one and swabbed the inside of his arm several times. Smiling at Grissom, he injected the drug cocktail. Before his eyes could take on the familiar sheen, he looked pointedly at Sara. "Rise an' shine, bitch. You're on Charlie's clock now."  
  
Grissom snapped back to reality and turned to Sara and the task at hand. "Ok, I'm going to sit you upright so we don't have Charlie doing it. Normally, I wouldn't move you, but he's not giving us much choice." Sara nodded and started to move, but Grissom stopped her. "Let me do the work. Just tell me if I'm hurting you, all right?"  
  
"Ok," she managed.  
  
Grissom couldn't help but notice that Sara had become increasingly quiet in the past few minutes. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he sorted out the meaning, but his entire conscious focus was now upon not hurting Sara further. Carefully, he placed his hands under her left arm and gently pulled her to a more upright position. Using his legs to brace her, he managed to ease Sara into a sitting position against the wall. Grissom studied her face and found her lips were drawn tight with pain and her eyes were squeezed shut.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sara. That's the worst of it for now." He stroked her face and noticed how rapid her breathing had become. Alarmed, he raised his voice slightly, "Sara, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me. You need to slow your breathing."  
  
"It hurts, Griss."  
  
"I know it does," he tried to make his voice more soothing than fearful. "Just stay calm. Don't talk."  
  
"I'm scared," she whispered.  
  
Grissom shut his own eyes briefly, before taking a deep breath and refocusing on her. He had never seen her this vulnerable. Sara was tough. Strong, stubborn and rarely admitting to anything remotely resembling fear; the woman would rather cut off an arm than admit to being scared. "Don't be," he replied softly. "I'm right here with you. Look at me, Sara. You're going to be fine. Please trust me."  
  
Slowly, her eyes opened and met his. He was relieved that her breathing had slowed somewhat and a hint more color was returning to her face. "That's better," he gave her a lopsided grin.  
  
"Do you have a handkerchief for your plan?" She managed to show him a small grin of her own.  
  
"Reading my mind again, huh?" Grissom raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
"Can't help it. You've got a sexy brain," Sara replied while casting a quick glance toward where she had seen him put the bottle of rubbing alcohol.  
  
"Likewise," Grissom replied and leaned closer to whisper a few words into her ear.  
  
******************************  
  
Catherine and Brass watched as an unmarked police sedan pulled to within thirty yards of the apartment building. The plainclothes officer driving emerged to speak with Martinez.  
  
Catherine paced nervously. "So, what are the chances of Dunn actually making it to that car, Jim?"  
  
"Could you please stay in one place? You're making me dizzy," Brass replied.  
  
She frowned, but joined him in leaning against one of the SWAT vans.  
  
"My nervous system thanks you, Cath."  
  
"So answer my question then."  
  
"I can't," he sighed in irritation. "Not with any degree of certainty. You know that. I've seen perps get taken out the second they're in range. It all depends."  
  
"As much as I'd love to see Dunn taken out, the chance of a misplaced shot scares the hell out of me."  
  
"Yeah, me too," Cath. Brass removed his sunglasses and wiped the sweat from his brow. "The fact is, Dunn's unstable and an imminent threat."  
  
"And they'll never let him get to the car," Catherine seemed to concede.  
  
"Probably not."  
  
Martinez caught Brass's attention. "Make your call." Tell him the car's here and push him to leave an open line as they're coming out. Sell him on it."  
  
"Round four," Brass said flatly as he and Catherine headed for the communications van.  
  
****************************  
  
Sara's head rested on Grissom's shoulder. He noticed that she no longer perspired. Rather, her skin had become much cooler. Shock was definitely taking hold. "How're you doing?" he asked softly.  
  
Sara opened her mouth to answer and was wracked by a series of coughs. Grissom quickly pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket, grasping the disposable lighter along with it. Dropping the lighter between their two bodies, he brought the cloth to Sara's mouth.  
  
"It's ok, just relax," he urged as she continued to cough. "Take shallow breaths."  
  
Sara seemed to relax after several seconds and he smiled to himself. Their rouse had worked. They now had all the tools they needed and within easy reach: fuel, wick and starter. He moved the handkerchief from her mouth and suddenly felt his stomach turn to ice. He stared at the bright red blood spray now coloring part of the cloth. His mind raced as his breathing seemed to stall. She's bleeding. Damnit, she's bleeding! The thoughts ran through his brain and he was powerless. A punctured lung? Hemorrhaging? Sara coughing up blood. No, no, it can't happen. We're almost out of here. Not now. Please, not now! Grissom quickly tucked the cloth between them, placing it over the lighter. He tried to force a smile to his lips as he felt her turn toward him. He knew it was a miserable attempt to shroud his feelings.  
  
"It's ok, Grissom," she tried to reassure him. "I know. I think my lung is punctured."  
  
"You didn't say anything."  
  
"What would you have done?"  
  
"I don't know. Something."  
  
"The past hour or so it's been getting harder to breathe," she whispered. "I didn't want you doing anything dumb on my account."  
  
"Like saving your life or something," he replied dryly.  
  
"No, like getting yourself killed."  
  
He couldn't reply, but lowered his head, unable and unwilling to meet her eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, Griss."  
  
He continued staring at his legs. "There's no reason for you to be sorry. Don't talk."  
  
"I mean, I'm sorry if I can't make it," she whispered and reached out for his hands.  
  
Grissom jerked away and raised his head, his eyes full of anger and fear. "Stop it! Apology not accepted."  
  
"Griss, listen to me."  
  
"I said, apology not accepted," he replied harshly.  
  
Anger, then recognition flashed in Sara's eyes and she turned away from him.  
  
"I never thought you were a quitter, Sara. Guess I was wrong."  
  
"I'm not," she barely managed to whisper.  
  
"Then don't quit, damnit." Grissom's voice was shaking. "I swear, Sara, if you give up, I will never forgive you." His throat burned and his heart ached as he reached out and pulled her head back to his shoulder. His hands were gentle and his fingers caressed her face in soft strokes. "I'll never forgive you."  
  
Sara's breathing was shallow as she settled against him and relaxed into his body. "I love you too, Griss."  
  
TBC 


	18. Issues? No, I've got subscriptions

Hi guys. Thanks for the reviews. Again, this is my first piece of fan fiction and you've been awesome. I'm working on the ending chapter(s) now and see it or them a couple of ways. Conflagration or not. I hope you like this installment.  
  
*****************  
Grissom stared intently at his cell phone, which lay on the table next to Dunn. He willed it to ring. Sara still rested against his shoulder. He knew her condition was worsening and he didn't know how much longer he could put up with this waiting game. She moved her head slightly and Grissom turned toward her.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
She moaned softly in reply as he brought his hands to her face. He saw that she was trying to bring her head into a more upright position and cursed himself for not having realized that necessity in the first place. She locked eyes with him and his breath caught in his throat. Carefully, Grissom braced her head against the wall.  
  
"Is that better? Don't answer, just nod."  
  
"Yeah," she managed.  
  
"I said don't talk," he chided softly.  
  
"Have to. Bored." The whisper barely reached Grissom's ears.  
  
"Ok, I can handle bored. Unconscious no, but bored, yes. Just concentrate on my voice Sara. Can you do that?"  
  
She nodded and rested her eyes briefly.  
  
"I'm not waiting any longer, Sara. We can't wait." He stole a glance at Charlie who continued to enjoy his buzz. "I'll do this when I can. Do you know what I mean?" Again he saw her nod. "Trust me Sara, I'm gonna get you out of this."  
  
"You too," she replied, with a bit more strength in her voice.  
  
Her tone both heartened and touched him. "Yeah, me too," he replied. "Don't talk. I know it goes against every fiber of your being, but please, humor me."  
  
Sara brought the slightest hint of a smile to her lips and it warmed his soul.  
  
Keep talking; keep talking, he reminded himself. Yeah, talking has always been my strong point. Well it better become one right now, buddy. Keep her awake. Talk to her and keep her awake. Since when have I started answering myself? Must be the head injury. Head injuries can make one ramble. Shit, rambling is what I need. Rambling is good. If one says rambling enough times it starts to sound funny. Jeez, Grissom, yeah you're hurt and tired, but this is Sara. The woman you've loved and will love. She needs you. Ramble to her. Rambling is good. He took another deep breath and jumped in.  
  
"So, I was thinking that we could go to Luigi's for our first official date. They've got great food," Grissom added, trying to keep up his monologue. "Or, I could cook. I can make a decent fettuccini Alfredo. In fact, I really enjoy cooking. It's a great stress reliever. I'm pretty good with garlic bread as well."  
  
Grissom continued speaking as he slowly began working the bottle of rubbing alcohol from behind his back. He had the handkerchief and lighter within reach. He's loosened the duct tape on his wrists to the point where he could soon free himself.  
  
********************  
"He's gonna fuck this up, man," Nick said, casting a nod toward Martinez. "I swear. It's gonna be fucked up and there's not a damn thing we can do."  
  
Warrick and Greg exchanged glances.  
  
"Is this the hottest day of the year or what?" Greg ventured. It's like a hundred and ten out here. Of course, standing in a parking lot doesn't help."  
  
"Cry me a river, Greg," Nick replied.  
  
Warrick shook his head at Nick. "C'mon. You think you're helping anything by giving us your worst-case scenario? We're all here, man. We see what's going on."  
  
"Yeah, Warrick, like you trust Martinez running this."  
  
"No, I can't say that I trust anyone running this. But, I do have faith in Cath and Brass. Yeah, it's a bad situation. It's been bad since Sara was taken. You know that."  
  
Greg stepped forward and slapped Nick affectionately on the arm. "You've gotta have faith in Sara and Grissom. Put their brains up against Dunn's and you've got no match my friend. Badda boom, badda bing, the dude's tied up in a corner getting a lecture on Dung Beetle larvae from Grissom.  
  
Nick rubbed his face and forced a smile. "I really hope you're right, Greggor."  
  
"Of course I'm right, Nick. Dude, this time tomorrow we'll be having drinks and celebrating their return. Sara will be telling us how she single-handedly saved Grissom's life."  
  
Warrick couldn't help but smile as he saw Catherine approaching. "Ok, Greg, but you're buying."  
***********************  
  
Grissom's cell rang and Charlie stood and grabbed it from the table. The nervous and chemical energy reverberated off of him and his hand shook as he held the phone.  
  
"You'd better be callin' to say my car's here."  
  
Dunn pulled the revolver form his waistband as he paced. "I don't wanna see a cop within a hundred yards. Nobody tails us either, or I'll kill 'em both."  
  
Grissom pleaded silently that Brass would ask to speak to him. He knew that he needed to tip them.  
  
"We may be out in five minutes, but I ain't decided." Dunn held the phone away from his face and laughed. "No way I'm leavin' the line open. Fuck that! You think I'm stupid? You want me to paint a bull's-eye on my head too!"  
  
Charlie scowled in Grissom's direction. "Why? I said they're ok. Yeah, yeah, whatever! Make it quick, asshole!"  
  
Grissom held his breath. Dunn's face broke into a twisted smile as he extended the phone. "Your boyfriend wants to hear your sweet voice, Gilbert. I suggest you tell him what a crazy son-of-a-bitch I am."  
  
Taking the phone, Grissom composed himself, as Dunn stayed close by. "Yeah, Brass. I'd listen to Charlie. Yes, I'm trying to make certain that Sara and I walk out. I'm getting her ready. Took some time to get everything together, but it'll be quite a conflagration, Jim."  
  
Charlie grabbed the phone and severed the connection.  
  
"What the fuck is that, Grissom? What the hell did you mean by uh, confugration?"  
  
"Sorry, I was just being sarcastic. It means a good time or party. From the Latin meaning to confug."  
  
Charlie brandished the revolver in Grissom's face. "Explain, motherfucker. You're so clever and shit. Explain to your girlfriend just how clever you are," he spat and pointed the gun at Sara.  
  
Grissom flinched but met Dunn's gaze. "I'm sorry. Again, I was being sarcastic. The word 'confugration' means simply a fun time or party. I meant that it wasn't going to be easy getting Sara on her feet. It's my nature, Charlie. I tend to be sarcastic."  
  
"I don't give a shit what you tend to be, Grissom. Another few minutes an' you may just tend to be dead. Now get the girl on her feet."  
  
"She's in a lot of pain, Charlie. Why not leave her here? You've got me. I can walk and I'm beginning to doubt if she can."  
  
"Good try, Gilberto. But, I don't think so. She's comin' along if I have to drag her. Wouldn't want her missin' all the fun now, would we?"  
  
*******************  
  
The CSI's, Brass and Greg emerged from the SWAT Comm van. "So, he mentions conflagration hoping Dunn won't know the meaning of the word," Catherine stated.  
  
Brass checked his watch and scanned the lot for Martinez. "Grissom's saying that either Dunn's gonna torch the place or he is? I'm not sure what the hell he's trying to tell us."  
  
"I'm putting money on Griss planning the fireworks," Nick interjected. "I mean, this lunatic is just too close to thinking he's getting away."  
  
"Nick's right. He's not going to spoil his ride now."  
  
"I don't disagree, Warrick," Brass sighed. "I'm just trying to figure out the why, 'cause I'm not sure I like this going down inside the building."  
  
"Grissom would never do anything to put Sara's life in danger. You know that."  
  
"Yeah, Cath, I know that," he replied. "I think it's just safer if they both walk out and we give it to SWAT."  
  
"Unless," Greg ventured, "Grissom knows Sara can't walk out."  
  
"And thinks Dunn may just kill her rather than be inconvenienced," Catherine finished his thought.  
  
"Or maybe Griss thinks that it's taking too damn long," Nick raised his voice. "The car, the money, everything. Maybe Sara's going downhill. We don't know shit, so don't pretend we do!"  
  
Warrick grabbed Nick's arm and spun the CSI to face him. "Listen to me. It's not helping, man. Just stop!"  
  
Nick jerked free and scowled at Warrick. "Yeah well, I had to say it. Don't pretend you weren't thinking it."  
  
The two men all but glared at each other until Catherine and Greg stepped between them. Slowly, eyes were lowered and defenses weakened. Warrick and Nick each stepped away.  
  
"Good," Catherine stated. "I won't have any of this right now. Fight all you want when it's done, but this is our team in there. Our family, in case you haven't been paying attention. They deserve one hundred percent."  
  
Brass broke the tension. "I've gotta find Martinez and get that engine company closer to the building before we have a damned fire on our hands."  
  
TBC 


	19. From the Latin, meaning to confug

Thanks for the reviews. I've been really nervous about this chapter. I didn't want to ruin the fic by messing up a pivotal part of the story. I don't think I did. Hopefully, you guys will agree. Happy reading.  
  
And really, I am trying to post as quickly as possible. Work has been consuming (as I'm sure it is with everyone), but we'll soon have a few weeks off and I'll be posting a new story. I promise to end this one first and should have the next chapter up within 4-6 days. Again, hope you like it. Thanks for reading and reviewing.  
  
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His whole world had become this room. The hours felt like a lifetime. His lifetime and Sara's lifetime. He tried to focus on the revelations; the feelings finally vocalized. A gnawing in the pit of his stomach overwhelmed all of the good. The fear that one or both of them might not survive grew sharper. Grissom could feel the tension coursing through his body as he reflected. His gaze rested upon Sara and he couldn't begin to fathom what the next few minutes would bring. Her eyes were open, but unfocused and filled with pain. It stabbed at his heart. Grissom turned away and purposely tried to detach himself from her suffering in order to concentrate on his plan. He was only partially successful, as he couldn't seem to block out the rasping sound of Sara's shallow breathing. It echoed in his head and he subconsciously gave thanks every time it did. It meant she was still alive.  
  
Dunn was nervous as he toyed with his knapsack. Grissom could sense hesitation in the man's actions. He seemed to be stalling, reluctant to journey beyond the apartment to the waiting car. Grissom wondered briefly that maybe Dunn was a little smarter than what he'd thought, but then the science spoke to him. Even the most basic life forms have an innate urge driving them toward survival and away from destruction.  
  
Time was something that became more and more valuable to the two hostages as each second passed and Grissom used Charlie's distraction to his advantage. He began to work his wrists free from the duct tape. It was a fairly easy process given that he had been stretching and twisting the tape for the better part of the past three hours. Barely a minute later, he had full use of his hands, but cautiously shielded them behind his drawn-up knees. Grissom leaned slightly toward Sara and unscrewed the cap from the bottle of rubbing alcohol. Quickly, he stuffed one end of the handkerchief into the liquid and was relieved when he felt the alcohol slowly seep into the top of the cloth. He pulled the bottle into his lap and turned his attention to the other side of the room.  
  
Dunn placed a new syringe and a glass vial of Methamphetamine on the table and zipped his knapsack. Grissom eyed him warily as he proceeded to fill the hypodermic with the stimulant. The CSI noted that his actions were still unsure and protracted despite the ever-present sneer.  
  
"Looks like she needs this after all," Charlie said flatly. Grissom's heartbeat quickened as he watched Dunn toss the empty vial into the corner.  
  
"Little speed, ya know," Charlie taunted. "Actually, a lot a speed," he laughed in a show of bravado.  
  
"You can't be serious, Dunn. In her condition, it'll be lethal." Grissom's voice wavered slightly as the muscles in his neck tensed.  
  
"Na, but it sure will get her ass off the floor."  
  
Grissom's mouth opened, but the words wouldn't come. His heartbeat thundered in his ears and his mind raced, but no words would come. He re- wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the disposable lighter and brought it closer to the handerchief extending from the bottle. Grissom felt his hands shaking and drew his knees even closer to his body to still them as best he could. Dunn was now crossing the room toward the CSI's. Briefly, time seemed to stand still for Grissom. He glanced quickly to his left and took in the sight of Sara's tortured features and couldn't help but think it may be the last time he saw her. He swiveled his head back toward Charlie and time caught up to him. Dunn was within ten feet of them. Grissom's thumb was becoming raw from resting so heavily on the lighters sparking mechanism. The dull throbbing of his head kept him focused as he leveled his eyes on the man in front of him and forced himself to think of nothing but the obstacle to overcome. Grissom's focus narrowed even further as he tried to spare the woman that had opened his world.  
  
"Stay the fuck away from her. I said you could take me." The words rang out crisply and coldly, and seemed to resonate off the walls. Charlie stopped and stared curiously at the CSI.  
  
"You tryin' to make a brave stand or somethin', dipwad?"  
  
"No, I'm simply giving you one last chance."  
  
Charlie laughed somewhat nervously as he cocked his head slightly but didn't move forward. "That's real funny, Gilbert. I didn't know you was so damned funny."  
  
"Take the offer, Dunn. You leave Sara here so she can be helped and I walk out with you."  
  
"You're even dumber than your cop friend. I ain't blowin' my chances now. They wanna see her. You think I don't know that?" Charlie lowered his voice in a bizarre attempt to match the calm menace of Grissom's tone.  
  
"I suggest you take my offer. I'm not giving you time, just a quick choice."  
  
Charlie Dunn's lower lip twitched and he appeared totally confused by the CSI's behavior. He started to step forward.  
  
"Don't do it," Grissom warned. "Stay away from Sara. Take the offer."  
  
The frustration and redness crept up Dunn's face as he again stopped to address Grissom. "Shut the fuck up, Gilbert! You ain't in charge here! I am! Got it? I am!" He brandished the .38 wildly in Grissom's direction.  
  
"No, Charlie. You're not in charge anymore. I am."  
  
"Motherfucker!" he screamed and started toward Grissom.  
  
"Have it your way. I gave you an out," Grissom said as he flicked the lighter underneath the handkerchief. The flame ate its way up the cloth. Dunn froze; momentarily stunned by the fire that seemed to come from nowhere. Grissom threw the flaming bottle at Charlie and dove to his right. If the gun was fired he wanted it to be as far away from Sara as possible.  
  
Dunn didn't have time to avoid the object and it glanced off his arm and mid-section before falling atop a pile of newspapers and garbage on the floor. The brief contact sent wisps of flames up his sleeve and chest. He felt the heat as the flame played along his arm, but the contact was not enough to do more than singe him. Nonetheless, Charlie shook violently at the sensation even as he tried to point the gun at Grissom.  
  
The papers and trash on the floor provided a perfect home for the burning projectile. The top few newspapers ignited quickly.  
  
Grissom tried to find his footing. His legs were unsteady and painful as he started toward a disoriented Dunn. Grissom had seen the syringe drop as the bottle hit it's target, but he knew Charlie still held the revolver. He felt his legs giving out as he threw himself at Dunn. The men fell to the floor in a tangled heap. Grissom desperately sought to disarm him as Charlie struggled to nose the revolver against his chest. Grissom felt his heart skip a beat as their momentum carried them to the left and into the pile of burning newspapers. The fire licked at their skin and Dunn discharged the revolver. The sound was muffled due to its proximity to their bodies and the surrounding garbage.  
  
Grissom felt heat sear his collarbone as he saw the right side of Dunn's shirt ignite and burn up the side. Charlie was thrashing frantically but still held the gun. Grissom moved quickly, trying to disarm him. He pummeled Dunn's face with blows until his body went limp and the gun dropped. Grissom placed the .38 in his waistband and then tried to smother the flames that were engulfing Dunn's shirt. He stopped as the heat in his neck intensified. It was burning and the pain was intense. His hand tried to slap flames away, but he felt only wetness. Shocked, he looked at his palm. It was coated with blood. He'd heard the muffled shot. Recognition swept over him and gently he brought his hand back to his neck. The bullet had grazed a deep trough along the top of his collarbone. Grissom could now feel the blood running down his chest and he pressed the sleeve of his sweatshirt against the wound. He thought for a second that the pain might cause him to vomit.  
  
Grissom tried to collect himself. What was he doing? Getting them out. Sara? He had to get Sara out of the apartment. He spun around to where she'd been sitting and was shocked to find her no longer there. He did find a large bullet hole in the wall. A bullet hole? Grissom was slightly amazed at how slowly his brain seemed to be processing information. Smoke was quickly filling the room, making it harder to see and breathe. Breathe. Breathe? Where was Sara? He knew he wasn't thinking clearly.  
  
"Sara?" He turned toward the kitchen area and saw her form slumped beside the table. The opened cell phone was clutched in her outstretched hand.  
  
"Sara! Grissom knelt beside her, frantically searching her head and upper body for the sign of a bullet wound. "Were you hit?" Getting no answer and finding no indication that she's been struck he looked more closely at her face. She was completely unresponsive. He grabbed the cell phone and put it to his ear as his eyes never left her face. The line was open, but he couldn't hear anyone. His free hand prodded Sara's neck for a pulse. "Is anyone on this line? This is CSI Grissom. Dunn has been disarmed. I'm coming out with Sara Sidle. Dunn has been disarmed. Getting no response he dropped the phone and prepared to pick-up Sara.  
  
Suddenly, the front door of the apartment was splintered into a thousand pieces.  
  
TBC 


	20. Walking Wounded

Hi guys. Almost wrapping it up. Please note that for the purposes of this piece of fiction, Hank the EMT is having several days off and spending them with a certain dominatrix. Thus, he shall not be in the story. Enough said. Please enjoy and leave a review. Thanks.  
  
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Catherine leaned slightly into Warrick, his arm steadying her as their eyes were glued to the building that Martinez and Brass had just entered. Nick and Greg blew off steam and frustration by pacing just inside the yellow police tape. They'd all been forced back by SWAT as soon as Sara's call came in. Brass had flipped open his cell and his face went from fatigue to confusion to overdrive in two seconds. He could barely hear her voice. Much clearer was the unmistakable sound of fighting in the background. He caught the distinct smack of fists striking flesh. Sara had managed only a few gasped words. 'Fire. Gunshot. Grissom and Dunn. Help'. She had stopped speaking and Brass shouted into the phone repeatedly, trying to elicit more information. Finally, getting no response, he'd left the phone open and placed it on the trunk of the car. He had soon been pummeled with worried questions from the assembled group and did his best to answer them while getting Commander Martinez on the radio.  
  
They all heard Martinez give the order to rush the apartment. The SWAT team stationed in an adjacent hallway since the beginning of the ordeal ensured the swift execution of the directive. Brass ushered Greg and the CSI's further away from the parking lot staging area as he and Martinez prepared to go inside. Two SWAT members carrying industrial fire extinguishers followed them. The Las Vegas Fire Department wouldn't be allowed inside until the scene was secured.  
  
Now Catherine and Warrick waited. Greg and Nick traded jibes and paced. They all knew the reality. It could be a set-up, staged by a desperate or unbalanced Dunn. Sara hadn't been able to convey much; had hardly been able to speak. It could be bad. They waited and took what comfort and energy they could from each other.  
  
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Grissom turned toward what used to be the front door to the apartment. Half a dozen SWAT officers swarmed through the doorway as the two leads that had wielded the steal battering ram stepped aside.  
  
"LVPD! Nobody moves!" The voice was loud and distinct and the words echoed against the walls.  
  
Guns were trained on all occupants of the apartment as the officers, outfitted in riot gear, took up strategic positions until the scene could be cleared. Grissom froze with his arms still clasping Sara. He felt hands pressed firmly on his shoulder and back to keep him from moving.  
  
"I'm CSI Grissom," he managed as loudly as possible. "This woman needs medical attention!"  
  
A gruff disembodied voice answered. "We know who you are, Mr. Grissom. We're securing the scene. Let us work."  
  
Grissom tried to turn, but was stopped by the hand pressing painfully into his back. "She needs help! The place is on fire!" Normally, he would have added a sarcastic inflection. He was vaguely aware that his thinking wasn't razor sharp.  
  
"We're taking care of that, Mr. Grissom. We need to immobilize the perp."  
  
"I already did that. She needs help! Let me go!"  
  
Grissom's hands had begun to tingle. Not painfully, but with an annoying consistency. He hardly felt the blood continuing to seep from the wound along his collarbone. If his sweatshirt had been anything other than navy blue, the bright red stain would have shocked anyone looking at him. The sharp pain had become a muted discomfort. Grissom had almost detached himself from his own discomfort. He was having a harder time shaking the dizziness and coldness that crept through his bones. He was in shock and didn't know it.  
  
"I already took care of Dunn. Get your hands off of me!"  
  
Commander Martinez entered the apartment and appraised the situation cautiously. "We secure here?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" came the barked response.  
  
The SWAT members with fire extinguishers had been working to knock back the flames coming from far side of the room. Brass took in the scene and quickly threaded his way through the SWAT members.  
  
"You ok, Grissom?" Martinez asked. "What about the girl?"  
  
The hands holding Grissom in place were removed and he gazed up at the SWAT commander. "She needs the paramedics. Where the hell are they?"  
  
"They're outside, Gil." Brass knelt beside his friend and inspected the gunshot wound. "Never learned to duck, huh? You scientists are pretty damned lousy at dodging bullets." His tone was light but the concern in his face was evident as he carefully probed the injury.  
  
Grissom shrugged violently. "I'm fine, Brass. Take care of Sara." He paused and appeared to collect himself. "Please make them take care of her." He sighed and glanced at Brass before returning his gaze to Sara. Grissom seemed to struggle for words. "Please, Jim. Don't let anyone hurt her."  
  
Already, Brass had leaned over Sara and was checking her neck for a pulse. She was so still that he feared the worst. Holding his breath he finally felt the light and rapid beat of her heart.  
  
Several paramedics came through the door carrying equipment, backboards and gurneys. Brass managed to pull Grissom away from Sara. Two medics started to work on her as one turned to the CSI and began to examine his wound. Again, Grissom shrugged away the attention, his eyes never leaving Sara's face. "It's not me, it's her. Help her, please." His tone had taken on an almost pleading quality and Brass motioned for the paramedic to leave him alone for the time being.  
  
"Gil? Gil? They're taking care of her, ok?" Brass positioned himself almost directly in front of his colleague and friend. "We need to get you out of here. You've been shot and you're in shock."  
  
Grissom did not respond verbally; rather he moved to one side until he could again see Sara. His entire focus was her.  
  
"Buddy, listen to me," Brass leaned in closer and grasped his wrist. "I know this probably isn't making much sense to you right now, but hear me. They are helping Sara." He felt like he was talking to a statue. A cold, bleeding statue.  
  
Across the room, Charlie Dunn had been loaded on a gurney already and was being treated even as he was being carried out. The fire and been subdued, but smoke still permeated the small apartment.  
  
The two paramedics working on Sara quickly and efficiently placed her on a backboard and then on a gurney. The medic stationed by her head was rhythmically inflating a breathing bag that was secured over her nose and mouth.  
  
"What are you doing?" Grissom's mind processed the actions, but he refused to face the reality.  
  
"We're taking her outside, sir. The smoke isn't helping our efforts."  
  
Grissom cocked his head in a brief show of confusion. Brass, realizing what was happening, tightened his grip on the CSI.  
  
"She's not breathing, sir," one of the paramedics said gently before returning to his patient.  
  
They quickly carried Sara out of the apartment and left a stunned Grissom in the doorway.  
  
Not breathing, he thought. She was breathing a minute ago. How could she not be breathing anymore? Sara had crawled across the floor. She was breathing then, but not now? Then, but not anymore? Grissom kept seeing the paramedic inflating the bag, forcing air into her lungs. She had been carried out, but the image persisted. His world seemed to stall and then lurch forward. It was unlike anything in his experience. Grissom was empty. He still stood in the apartment. The dizziness wasn't new, but the flurry of activity continued to keep him off balance as he could feel people brush by. The smoke had started to abate. He wondered idly why they hadn't brought a fan in. The fire department usually brought fans to extract the smoke. He knew that Brass continued speaking to him. What he said, Grissom didn't register. Brass just continued speaking, then wrapped one arm around his back and walked them out of the apartment.  
  
Suddenly, Grissom realized that Sara wasn't near him. She wasn't in the hallway. She wasn't waiting for him. Sara wasn't breathing and she wasn't in the hallway. That was all he knew. She wasn't near him. Grissom broke Brass's hold and ignored the concerned look on his friend's face. He needed to find Sara, because she wasn't near him.  
  
TBC 


	21. I gotta get home Are we wrapping soon o...

Hi guys. Thanks for your continued support and reviews. You do inspire me to keep this up. I swear I'm trying to wrap this story in another chapter or two. Enjoy. Hope you like this installment.  
  
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Catherine and Warrick had ventured closer to the building when they'd heard the LVFD being ordered to stand down. Apparently, the fire had been contained. The three paramedic squads that had arrived a half-hour prior pulled up nearer to the rear door of the apartment complex. The squad vehicles were advanced life support units; the best field technology available. Three paramedics per unit trumped the standard two. The men and women made short work of grabbing drug boxes, monitors, backboards and stretchers, before heading into the building.  
  
Nick and Greg, realizing their friends had moved substantially closer to the staging point, did so themselves.  
  
"They've been in there long enough, don't ya think?" Nick drawled. The fatigue made his normally subdued accent much more pronounced.  
  
Warrick smiled briefly. "You said it, cowboy." His words held no malice and Nick grinned back at him, their argument forgotten.  
  
Two SWAT team members exited the building, stripping themselves of heavy vests and protective headgear as they walked.  
  
Catherine stepped toward the sidewalk. "Hey, what's the situation in there?"  
  
The two men looked at Catherine with questioning expressions.  
  
"CSI Willows," she clarified.  
  
Both men continued walking and peeling off gear, with one of them turning briefly toward her. "It's contained. Can't tell you about your people. One looked bad."  
  
"Yeah, ok," Nick managed.  
  
"Thanks for nothin'," Greg added as the men walked out of earshot.  
  
"Easy, man," Warrick reminded. "Dude's just doin' his job."  
  
Catherine chewed her lip in frustration. "I can't take this waiting crap!" Where the hell is Brass?"  
  
"Hey, hey. C'mon, Cath, don't do this." Warrick moved to put his arm around her, but she dodged him.  
  
"Don't do what? Don't be concerned for my friends?"  
  
Warrick sighed and dropped his head as Catherine tipped a bottle of water to her mouth. She downed most of it then passed a hand across her brow. "I'm sorry, Warrick. I didn't mean that."  
  
Looking up, he nodded and gave her a brief smile. She started to reach out for his hand, but there wasn't much time for apologies as Nick spoke up. "Hey, they're bringing somebody out."  
  
Two paramedics carried Dunn to within a few feet of an ambulance. He was conscious, but groaning loudly, obviously in pain from the 3rd degree burns along one side of his body.  
  
"Sonofabitch!" Catherine almost spat.  
  
The paramedics attending to Dunn set-up multiple IV's and began to irrigate the burns.  
  
"Take good care of him," Warrick cocked his head at the medics. "We want the motherfucker healthy for trial."  
  
The CSI's had been so focused on Dunn, they hadn't seen Greg moving closer to the walkway leading from the building. He stood frozen as the gurney carrying Sara moved toward him.  
  
"Sara?" He reached out a hand as if to touch her, but a paramedic quickly brushed him aside.  
  
"Stand clear."  
  
The commotion caught Catherine, Warrick and Nick's attention. They all wore expressions of disbelief as the medics stopped at the back of the second ambulance and continued working methodically on Sara. Catherine's eyes were glued to the ventilation bag being compressed in a rhythmic manner, forcing air into her lungs.  
  
"She's not breathing," Nick whispered to himself.  
  
Warrick turned away, resting his gaze on anything other than the surreal scene in front of him.  
  
The paramedics quickly started multiple IV's and hooked her up to the portable monitors. "Ok, we've still got a weak pulse. Bradycardia. Keep up the ventilation. No evidence of spontaneous respiration. Fluid in the chest or collapsed lung," one reported.  
  
"Fresh needle marks," his partner noted. "Let's get some Narcan on board and reverse any respiratory depression from the drugs."  
  
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Grissom leaned into the door going to the parking lot, pushing it open with the assistance of Jim Brass. Finding himself in the intense sunlight, he shielded his eyes with one hand while still scanning the abundance of rescue vehicles. He turned toward Brass, as if just remembering that he was with him.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"C'mon, Gil, we'll find her," Brass replied and slipped a steadying hand around Grissom's back. They slowly approached the other members of the team.  
  
Warrick's eyes fell on the two men and noted that his supervisor was unnaturally pale. "Grissom?"  
  
The others turned at the name and Catherine began to rush forward to greet the two. She stopped in her tracks as Brass shook his head.  
  
"Gil?" she asked softly.  
  
Grissom's attention turned to her. "Catherine, have you seen Sara? She was just inside with me. She was just in there." His tone was so calm and rational that it stunned Catherine to silence.  
  
Nick fought to find his voice. "She's here, Griss." He motioned for Greg to move so that Grissom could see Sara.  
  
"Thank you, Nick," the wounded CSI replied solemnly. He pulled away from Brass and walked slowly toward Sara and the paramedics. He stopped a few feet from the gurney, his eyes once again locked on her face as the paramedics continued to work, trading assessments back and forth. His mind filled with their words, but he couldn't register the meaning.  
  
"Ok, Narcan working. Pulse stronger and in sinus rhythm. Still no spontaneous respiration."  
  
"I'm going to try to withdraw some air from the chest cavity, see if we can give the right lung some room to expand."  
  
A large needle was inserted into Sara's chest and the plunger on the syringe pulled back. Several seconds passed before the paramedic listening to Sara's chest looked up. "Hey, hey good. I've got some breath sounds here. She's hangin' in there. Let's transport."  
  
"Don't wanna wait for the chopper?" his partner asked. "It's two minutes out."  
  
"Nope, we'll be faster," came the answer.  
  
They began to load Sara into the back of the ambulance and Grissom stepped forward, as if to touch her.  
  
"Sir, you need to stand back, so we can get this woman to the hospital."  
  
Brass and Warrick pulled Grissom away from the ambulance, as Sara was loaded and the doors closed. Within seconds the vehicle was gone, sirens mixing with the noisy activity of the parking lot.  
  
"Gil, listen to me," Brass said evenly. "It looks like Sara's doing better. Trying to breathe on her own. Ok?"  
  
Grissom nodded as Brass continued.  
  
"The paramedics need to take care of you, my friend. You're bleeding and you're in shock."  
  
Catherine motioned toward the third paramedic crew that had been standing somewhat back from the scene.  
  
"I wanna see Dunn first?" Grissom stated.  
  
"Man, let them look at you," Warrick spoke up.  
  
"I have to tell him something."  
  
Grissom caught sight of Dunn, still being treated, a few yards away from them. He approached as Brass followed closely. The man on the stretcher was still semi-conscious and in pain.  
  
"Look at me, Dunn!' Grissom's raised voice startled everyone. When he finally caught the semi-glazed eyes of his former captor, the CSI leaned toward him.  
  
"If Sara dies, I'll kill you."  
  
Brass took a step toward him, but stopped cold when he saw Grissom lift his sweatshirt and pull a .38 revolver from his waistband.  
  
"Gil, don't." The older cop edged forward slightly, not wanting to alarm anyone.  
  
The gun remained at Grissom's side. 'And one other thing, Dunn. Nobody calls me Gilbert."  
  
Grissom turned and handed the .38 to Brass who let out an audible sigh.  
  
"I meant to give this to you earlier, Jim. It belongs to Charles."  
  
"Jesus, SWATS been going crazy inside trying to find the weapon," Brass said, handing the gun over to the nearest officer.  
  
"Sorry," Grissom managed before leaning against the side of the ambulance and sliding slowly to the pavement. He felt so cold and thirsty. Images played in his mind as reality faded to gray. His mind drifted back to Sara's head propped on his knee. The feeling and the words spoken. She loved him. The gray turned to black.  
  
Brass and Catherine waved in the paramedics and stepped back. Grissom's head rolled to the side as he slipped into unconsciousness. His sweatshirt was quickly cut away, revealing his blood streaked chest and shoulder.  
  
Catherine's eyes filled with tears as Brass gently pulled her into his arms. "He's going to be all right, Cath."  
  
TBC 


	22. Is Tom Petty applicable here? The Waiti...

I think this affliction may be called "fear of ending a story, lest one do it badly." Please, do humor me and continue reading. I swear I'm trying to wrap it. I just get these freaky doubts and insecurities and keep writing. Hope it's not boring. Nothing worse than boredom. I think it's going to be heavy on the angst until the final chapter. Only like two more to go. I swear. Ok, and I'm going to try some sarcastic (or maybe nice) humor to offset all this gut wrenching melodrama.  
  
Again, thanks for reading and reviewing. Really hope you hang in there with me. Next chapter will be up much more quickly than this one.  
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A siren droned in his head and he could sense a slight swaying motion. He was vaguely aware that his body hurt. No, not just hurt; it was a steady ache accentuated every few seconds by stabbing pain. Opening his eyes a fraction of an inch, he saw a woman in uniform with a stethoscope draped around her neck. He couldn't fathom the why, how or what. Strange dream, he thought. A man in a white shirt with blood smears and disheveled tie sat slumped beside the woman. Lines of fatigue seemed to surround the man's closed eyes. Grissom tried to focus his mind. Why was Brass in his dream or nightmare as it was now becoming?  
  
This was bizarre. Had he been feverish before turning in? Oddly, he couldn't remember turning in. The ritual would have been the same as usual: shower, eat, unwind by reading or listening to music, then hit the bed. Cases had almost constantly invaded his sleep as a younger CSI, but that was now a rarity. He'd learned the hard way that if work didn't get checked at the doorstep, it would slowly eat away at him. Sure, plenty thought him callous, indifferent or just plain devoid of feeling, but he could not continue in his chosen profession unless he could rely upon scientific detachment. Despite his personal edict, some cases still wormed their way inside and fed upon his psyche until the nightmares shook him awake, leaving him confused and unable to remember the content. Thankfully, they became fewer as he'd grown into the profession and learned to better manage his emotions.  
  
The only recent disruptions of his sleep were decidedly present. Unlike the nightmares, Grissom could recall these nocturnal rompings of his mind with incredible clarity. Holding Sara. Kissing Sara. Making love to Sara. Saying words to her in his dreams that he couldn't fathom uttering in reality. Grissom had always thought it a cruel joke that his subconscious could so freely give and receive pleasure, while lately, his conscious mind sought out refuge from even the most benign contact with Sara Sidle.  
  
Sara? Something tugged at his mind. Sara? What? He remembered her smile. Grissom's eyes had closed. He was so groggy. His arms felt weighted and the pain persisted. He really needed to steer this dream in a more pleasant direction. Sara. Yes. He could feel himself sinking into the comfort of his down pillow, soft hands wrapped around his chest. Aahh, Sara. He smiled. The pain should be gone. It wasn't. It hurt more than ever. Pain? Sara? Grissom was jolted back to his senses as his mind allowed him to remember. Reality hit hard. The dingy apartment came back to him. Charlie Dunn's smug face played in his mind. Everything came back.  
  
Grissom tried to sit up, much to the consternation of the paramedic beside him. "Easy, easy. C'mon, you can't move, Mr. Grissom. We'll be at the hospital soon. Help me out here." she raised her voice over the wail of the siren.  
  
The commotion roused Brass. "Stop it, Gil. You're going to mess up the paramedics' handiwork." He paused briefly, taking in the sight of the conscious CSI, before giving the thinnest hint of relaxation. "Though it is not to have you back with us again."  
  
Grissom was more than confused. "Why isn't Sara here? She was hurt. Where did they take her?"  
  
"She's at the hospital already. We'll be there soon."  
  
"I'll need to see her, Brass," Grissom stated. His tone was cool, business like and much more suited to an interrogation room than an ambulance. "I'm all right. Help me sit up." The CSI again tried to raise his head and body from the stretcher.  
  
"Hey!" the paramedic shouted, reaching for the IV lines.  
  
"Grissom, hold it!" Brass raised his voice and put a firm hand on his friend's chest. "Don't move! You were shot, damnit. You need to stay still."  
  
The pressure on his chest, coupled with a wave of dizziness returned Grissom's head to the pillow. He closed his eyes in an attempt to keep the nausea at bay. After a few moments, he took a deep breath that seemed to catch halfway. His voice wavered as he spoke softly. "Any word on Sara?"  
  
"She's hanging in there," Brass sighed and slumped back in his seat. "Trying to breathe on her own. We'll know more soon."  
  
The paramedic leaned closer to her patient. "We're almost there, Mr. Grissom. A team of trauma specialists are gonna descend on you like locusts. You'll have a bunch of unfamiliar people asking you questions and hooking you up to various machines. I'm not saying this to scare you. I want you to be prepared. It can be somewhat overwhelming."  
  
Grissom gave a small nod; his eyes still squeezed shut.  
  
"Be cooperative. Answer their questions. Being combative will not help them to help you," she finished and quickly began making last minute preparations for arrival at the hospital.  
  
**********************  
  
Catherine was speaking on a pay phone to the left of the surgical floor waiting area. She smiled weakly as Brass handed her a steaming cup of coffee. Hanging up the receiver, she let him guide her gently over to where the others sat.  
  
"Had to talk to my kid, you know," she sighed and rubbed her tear-streaked face with a tissue.  
  
Brass nodded. "I know."  
  
Greg's legs were draped across two of the vinyl seats as he alternated between staring vacantly down the hallway and shielding his eyes from the bright overhead lights. He wore headphones and shifted uncomfortably every few minutes. Warrick glanced up as Brass and Catherine sat on the sofa across from him. Grabbing his jacket, he pushed himself to his feet.  
  
"I'm gonna find the cafeteria. You want anything, Cat?"  
  
"Liquid diet," she replied, gesturing to the coffee cup. "Thanks."  
  
The tall CSI shrugged, donned his jacket and started down the corridor.  
  
"I'm not hungry either, Warrick, thanks," Brass said.  
  
They couldn't hear his mumbled reply. Catherine thought absently that Jim wouldn't have wanted to hear it.  
  
Nick walked hurriedly into the waiting area. "Hey, the floor nurse just told me a doc should be out to talk to us in a couple of minutes."  
  
"Maybe Gil's out of surgery?" Catherine ventured, trying not to sound overly hopeful.  
  
"Not sure," Nick replied, popping open his Coke. "She wasn't quite that talkative."  
  
"Well, I think we're about to find out something anyway." Jim Brass stood as a dark haired thirty-something man in fresh scrubs approached the group. Nick nudged Greg's feet off of the chairs and he startled briefly before removing his headphones and getting to his feet. All eyes were on the man approaching them.  
  
"Family for Mr. Grissom?" he asked.  
  
"That's us," Catherine stepped forward.  
  
"I'm Doctor Lesky. I was one of the attending trauma surgeons in the ER and assisted our chief orthopedic surgeon on Mr. Grissom's case. Let me assure you, he's doing very well."  
  
An almost audible sigh could be heard from the assembled group and Doctor Lesky smiled.  
  
"Could you run down the damage, doc?" Brass asked.  
  
"The bullet splintered a fairly significant portion of Mr. Grissom's left collarbone. We were able to repair that with some small plates and screws. There was some bone loss along the top portion of the collarbone, but it's nothing that will effect range of motion or quality of life. He'll need some physical therapy in a couple of weeks."  
  
"When can we see him?" Warrick interjected as he rejoined the group.  
  
Doctor Lesky glanced at his watch. "He's in recovery now. Give us an hour or so."  
  
"Sara Sidle, Doctor?" Catherine spoke up quickly, before the man could walk away.  
  
"She was taken into surgery more than two hours ago," Brass added.  
  
"I'm sorry. I can't tell you anything about Ms. Sidle. I can only assume that she's still in surgery. I'm certain her doctor will speak with you." He nodded at them and walked down the hall.  
  
"Shit." Greg through his headphones to the floor and stalked away.  
***********************  
Sara couldn't remember ever having felt so good. So fulfilled. It was like her favorite sweatshirt from college wrapped around sunshine and the best kiss she'd ever received. It was topped by whispered words from the man who had delivered the kiss and now held her. Grissom's arms felt so comfortable and warm. She snuggled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm. The beat echoed in her head.  
TBC 


	23. I'm serious about that Tshirt, Jim

Hi guys. Thanks for the reviews. And thanks for the encouragement Jane Doe. You rock. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Again, it probably will give new meaning to the word angst, so have a drink or something while you're reading it.  
*********************  
Grissom felt groggy, but fairly oriented. It was six hours since his surgery. He knew what had happened. The memories would be etched into the recesses of his mind forever. He would not give in to the pain. They had provided him with a morphine pump, though it did nothing to dull the ache in his heart. His thoughts were of her.  
He had a vague recollection of voices and faces from when he'd first come out of the anaesthetic. Catherine had grasped his hand and spoken to him. He hadn't been able to understand what she was saying. A brief flash of Nick and Warrick standing on either side of his bed played through his mind. Brass had come in at some point. Greg was with him. The young man's eyes had a haunted look. Grissom had struggled to ask about Sara, but hadn't been able to vocalize anything. His throat was still swollen and irritated from the surgery and he fought hard to remain awake. The faces had all faded rather quickly as his eyelids grew heavy and sleep claimed him again.  
  
Awake and in pain, Grissom ran his tongue over his cracked lips. Finally, he saw her standing in the shadows beside the window and he tried to raise his voice above the harsh whisper that it was. "Cath?"  
  
Catherine turned and walked to his bed. "I'm right here, Gil," she said, gently taking his hand into hers.  
  
"I need to know. About Sara. Please tell me."  
  
Catherine had known this would be the first question out of his mouth once he'd more fully come around. She dreaded it, but part of the reason she'd sat by his bed for the past two hours was that she wanted to be the one to tell him. She didn't want the reserved, detached voice of a doctor or nurse telling him about Sara. Gil was a close friend. He deserved to hear the news from her.  
  
Putting his hand in both of hers, Catherine paused before looking into his eyes. "Sara's in a coma, Gil. Her doctors really haven't been able to give us an indication of when or if she'll come out of it."  
  
Grissom felt relief and pain in the same instant. He had been afraid that she'd left him. The sheer joy at discovering that she still breathed was all but smashed to bits by the fact that she was comatose.  
  
"Why, uh, why?" His voice broke on the words and he bit his lip to keep the tears at bay. His shoulder suddenly throbbed more and he pushed the button on the morphine pump. He was glad it only released one dose at a time, or he might have been tempted to dose himself until he fell asleep. Asleep and away from people that told him Sara might not wake up. Away from the world in which Sara no longer laughed, smiled, yelled or came out in the cold to wrap a blanket around his shoulders and sit with him while he tested a theory.  
  
"There was a lot of internal bleeding. The surgeons repaired her punctured lung and the ribs."  
  
She paused; finding herself caught up once again in the emotions of just a few hours prior. The doctors had been detailed and not overly optimistic as they delivered their news. Catherine had found her eyes roaming over the faces of her friends as the prognosis continued to hit them all. Greg had stalked off, needing to be alone. Nick seemed to be at a complete loss for words. Warrick and Brass had tried to comfort her, but she could feel herself pushing both of them away. Two hours later, they'd learned that Sara wasn't coming out of the anaesthetic and was suspected to be in a coma.  
  
"Catherine?" Grissom's hoarse voice snapped her back to the present.  
  
"Uh, apparently it was very touch and go. The surgeons had her in there a long time."  
  
His eyes had closed and she noticed his breathing had become more rapid.  
  
"Are you sure you want to hear this now, Gil?" Maybe you should rest."  
  
His eyes sprung open and he tried to compose himself. "No. I mean I need to hear it. I have to know what we're up against. Please, Cath?"  
  
Catherine sighed and nodded her head. "Sara has some severe bruising to several internal organs. Along with bleeding."  
  
"He hurt her, Catherine. I saw the bruises. I should've done something sooner. I waited too long. I waited too fucking long."  
  
"No, Gil. I'm not going to let you do this. I won't. Dunn is a sick son- of-a-bitch and is fully responsible for what he did to you and Sara. I will not stand by and let you blame yourself. Sara wouldn't tolerate it and neither will I."  
  
He seemed to sink further into the bed and his head was pressed against the pillow. "Please, Catherine. I need you to tell me everything. Why is she in a, I mean why is she unconscious?"  
  
"The doctors are concerned about how long her brain went without oxygen."  
  
She felt him tense. Damn, this was hard for her to say. She could only imagine how bad it was for him to hear. "They, uh, aren't sure if there's brain damage." God, she thought, that'll kill him. She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Gil."  
  
"When?" he choked as the words caught in his throat and he wasn't able to complete the sentence. His hand depressed the button on the morphine pump, knowing it was too soon for another dose. He silently cursed the machine.  
  
"Gil?"  
  
"When, when will they know?"  
  
"They'll do a scan for brain activity in the next few hours. They want to give her time after the surgery."  
  
"Was it the drugs, Catherine?"  
  
"I don't know. The doctors seem to think it was a combination: shock, oxygen deprivation, blood loss. I'm sure the drugs played some part." She shrugged helplessly and gripped his hand tighter.  
  
"If Sara's not all right, I'll get him."  
  
"Dunn's burned over fifty percent of his body. He may not live," Catherine said evenly.  
  
"Good," he replied and Catherine realized she'd never before seen such pure hatred on his face.  
  
Grissom locked his eyes with Catherine's. "I want to see her. Please, I need to see her."  
  
"I know you do. I'm pretty sure you're not able to leave this room. They're going to keep you here in ICU for at least twelve hours. You need to heal a bit yourself, Griss.  
  
"Soon, Cath. You arrange it. Please."  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to vanquish the pain that now consumed his soul. His only escape was drugged sleep and his last action was another useless push on the morphine pump.  
  
Catherine rubbed the back of his hand and placed it gently across his chest. His breathing soon became slow and rhythmic.  
  
"Sleep well," she whispered, before turning to leave the room.  
***************************  
Warrick walked down the hall toward the ICU nurses' station. He'd gone home and gotten some much-needed sleep. Catherine had left shortly after him. Her talk with Grissom had drained every last reserve she had. Nick was grabbing a short nap before going in to coordinate cases for the nightshift. The dayshift had been cycling people in and out on overtime to assist graveyard since this all began. Warrick realized they'd all soon be back into the routine, despite two of their team members lying in hospital beds. He and Catherine were both scheduled to pull half-shifts later that night. Despite the rest, he couldn't suppress a rather loud yawn.  
  
"Sounds like you didn't get quite enough sleep."  
  
He turned at the sound of Catherine's voice. "Hey. No, can't say it was entirely restful. How 'bout you?" He stopped walking and waited for her to catch up.  
  
"Not great," she conceded. "But, I spent some time with Lindsey."  
  
He gave her a grin. "How's she doing?"  
  
"Wanted to know why I've been at work so much for the past few days."  
  
"You tell her?"  
  
"Well, she sensed something was wrong. I told her that Sara and Grissom were hurt. She gave me a hug and told me not to worry."  
  
"She's a great kid."  
  
"Yes, she is," Catherine laughed.  
  
They continued on in companionable silence as they approached the ICU nurse's station.  
  
"I called earlier," Catherine addressed a nurse. "Any change in Mr. Grissom's status?"  
  
The nurse checked a chart briefly. "No, he's still stable. In fact, they'll be moving him off this floor and into a regular room. Half hour maybe."  
  
"Thanks," Warrick acknowledged the good news. "How about Sara Sidle?"  
  
The nurse didn't need to consult a chart. "I'm sorry, there's been no change."  
  
"Ok," Catherine nodded. "Can we see her?"  
  
"Sure. The doctor might still be in there. Just try and keep it under ten minutes," she gave them a slight smile. "She's in 433, but I'm sure you remember."  
  
"Yeah, thanks again," Catherine threw over her shoulder as they continued down the corridor.  
  
A doctor was just existing Sara's room and they recognized him as the neurologist that had spoken to them a few hours prior. He nodded at the two CSI's.  
  
"We'll be doing the scan within the hour."  
  
"And that'll tell us about the level of brain activity?" Warrick asked bluntly.  
  
"In a best-case scenario, yes. Ms. Sidle is breathing independently, so we know she has basic function. Whether or not higher function has been impaired due to oxygen deprivation remains to be seen."  
  
"Doctor," Catherine paused, "our co-worker, Gil Grissom is quite anxious to see Sara. They're very close."  
  
"That's the gentleman down the hall? The one who was being held with her?"  
  
They both nodded.  
  
"I don't have a problem with that, but you really should be speaking to his doctor. It's not my call."  
  
Warrick nodded his head. "We'll do that."  
  
"Uh, you'll keep us informed on the results of the scan?" Catherine spoke as the doctor turned to leave.  
  
"Someone will, yes."  
******************************************  
Jim Brass took a seat by Grissom's bed. The CSI's eyes were closed and Brass debated about whether or not he should stay. He couldn't help but note that his friend looked considerably better than the last time he'd seen him. Grissom shifted uncomfortably and his eyes opened, taking in the man beside his bed.  
  
"Hey," Grissom managed, his voice still hoarse.  
  
"Hey, yourself," Brass gave him a small grin. "How you feeling?"  
  
"If someone could bring me a T-shirt with 'Like Shit' printed on the front, then I could stop answering that question."  
  
Brass laughed. "Well, if you can manage to say all that, you must be feeling better."  
  
"Any change in Sara's condition, Jim?"  
  
"I haven't actually talked with anyone, but I looked in on her a few minutes ago. Guess nobody knows if she can hear us or not, but I told her you were ok and that you'd be in to see her soon."  
  
Grissom nodded and his eyes conveyed his thanks. Jim watched as the CSI slowly sunk into the pillow and fell asleep. Brass relaxed into the back of the chair and decided he could stay a little longer.  
  
TBC 


	24. Wouldn't the penguins need tiny saddles ...

Hi guys. Thanks so much for the reviews. I continue to be amazed and flattered by your kind words. Jeez, now I just sound silly. But, please keep it coming. And, I am posting as fast as I can. To the person who asked that I post several chapters at once, my answer is simple. I rarely write anything ahead. I wish I did. I'm about as dyslexic as a person can get before they have to do a brain transplant. I check and recheck each chapter. Mistakes still happen. Anyway, enough rambling from me.  
  
Hope you enjoy this chapter. I will post the next one in a few days. Peace.  
**********************  
Sara appeared somewhat peaceful he thought. Despite the small bandage on her head and some facial bruising, she looked almost serene. The various machines that beeped and tracked her vital signs were the only sounds in the room. Warrick traced the IV lines idly as he cleared his throat. One hand still had a nervous grip on the metal railing of the bed.  
  
"Hey, Sara. You ready need to do something about this situation. I could use about two days of sound sleep and I can't do that with you unconscious. Just not possible. I guess you grew on me, huh? I'm pretty sure I speak for the rest of the team on that one. Well, except Griss. I think he's always known how special you are."  
  
He took a deep breath and Catherine stepped forward and placed her hand over his. Speaking to Sara was harder than he'd even imagined. He felt like his soul was bared.  
  
"People are still out there killing each other. Greg and Nick are gonna stop by later. You're really putting us through the wringer, Sidle. You need to wake your ass up," Warrick whispered before bending down to lightly brush his lips against her forehead."  
  
"I'm siding with Warrick on this one," Catherine spoke. "We need you to wake up. Lindsey can't wait to see you and I know you can't wait to see Grissom." Catherine felt her emotions well up and paused to compose herself. "He's all right, you know. Just worried."  
  
She moved forward to smooth Sara's hair. "Please, don't make him worry much longer. I don't think he can take it."  
  
Warrick wrapped his arm around Catherine and they walked from the room.  
  
****************  
Eighteen hours later  
Catherine and Brass stood just outside Grissom's room. He'd been moved from ICU the day before and was now in a regular room. His level of awareness had increased ten-fold. This both delighted and dismayed his friends. He had become more demanding by the hour. They were quickly discovering that Gil Grissom did not tolerate hospitals well. Especially one's in which he was a patient. The morphine pump was no more. Grissom was still in moderate physical pain that the oral medication did little to alleviate. He repeatedly refused injections of anything stronger.  
  
Grissom wanted to see Sara. This was made abundantly clear to every doctor, nurse, friend and orderly that entered the room. Dr. Lesky had come in to examine Grissom and the two CSI's had stepped out. They didn't have to strain hard to hear the conversation between patient and doctor. Grissom was adamant. The doctor was frustrated. Outside the door, Catherine and Brass shared a smile.  
  
"I can't say this is unexpected," Brass laughed.  
  
"Me either. I'm just waiting for Lesky to realize he's fighting a losing battle."  
  
The voices coming from the room were suddenly quiet. The doctor exited and stopped beside Catherine and Brass. His usual professional demeanor in dealing with patients had just been sorely tested.  
  
"That man, your friend," he added and pointed a mildly accusing finger at Jim and Catherine, "does not seem to realize he's recovering from a gunshot wound. Just because he can walk to the bathroom, with assistance I might add, does not mean he's ready to be discharged."  
  
"Don't sweat it, doc," Catherine attempted to calm the flustered physician. "He can be kind of intense."  
  
"He asked me which medical school I attended and if my GPA was above 3.0."  
  
"He just wants to see Sara," Brass interjected, "and he's frustrated.  
  
Catherine could have sworn she heard a small growl begin to emanate from Dr. Lesky's throat.  
  
"So, what's the decision? Can he see her?"  
  
"Well, considering he isn't to be released for two more days, I think, for my own mental health, I'll allow it."  
  
"Thank God," they responded in unison  
  
"But, only in a wheelchair and only for a few minutes at a time." The still flummoxed doctor turned on his heel and walk quickly down the hall, shaking his head the entire way.  
  
Brass and Catherine returned to Grissom's room to find him sitting up, his feet dangling over the side of the bed.  
  
"Gil, what the hell are you doing? Get back in bed," Catherine chastised.  
  
"I want the pajamas you bought me. I'm sick of this damned gown."  
  
I'll get them," she replied, grabbing a shopping bag off the table against the wall. "I even washed them so they'd be soft."  
  
"Cath, just give me the damn clothes."  
  
She smiled sweetly at him as she pulled a pile of flannel from the bag and placed it beside Grissom. Absently, he grabbed for the pants and begun to put them on. A sudden groan escaped his lips.  
  
"You ok, Gil?" Brass asked.  
  
"I'm fine," came the clipped reply. "Catherine, of what I'm certain was the veritable plethora of designs the store offered, why did you get me penguins?"  
  
Brass choked back a laugh as he took notice of the pajamas.  
  
"Not just penguins, Gil," Catherine pointed to the fabric. "Ice skating penguins."  
  
The CSI took a closer look and did indeed notice that the penguins all wore tiny ice skates. "Jesus," he sighed.  
  
"Oh, come on. It was the only pattern left in flannel and I didn't want you to be cold."  
  
Grissom raised an accusing eyebrow. "No, Catherine. You bought me penguins on purpose."  
  
"Well, it could be worse," she laughed. I might have bought you penguins on porpoises."  
  
A slow smile spread across Grissom's face. "Ok, that was about the worst attempt at a joke I've ever heard. Just bad, on so many levels." He paused, the smile still playing on his lips. "Thank you."  
  
She smiled back at him. "Listen, Gil, the doc says you can see Sara, but only if you use a wheelchair, ok?"  
  
He nodded and cast his eyes downward. The levity had been all too brief. Reality once again settled upon them.  
  
"I'll go make arrangements while Jim helps you change into your jammies."  
  
Catherine left and Brass turned back to Grissom. "Ok, bud, let's get your penguin jammies on."  
  
Grissom fixed the man with a near lethal stare. "Jim, when Cath says 'jammies,' it's annoying. When you say 'jammies,' it's just plain frightening."  
  
"Oh yeah, you're definitely feeling better," the cop sighed.  
***********************  
Greg stood back from Sara's bed. His expression was a mix of fright and discomfort. He had caught a ride to the hospital with Nick and was now regretting it. The uneasy feeling had been churning in his stomach since they'd come in the room, a few minutes earlier.  
  
Nick spent his time quietly talking to Sara. Pausing, he turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at the young man behind him.  
  
"She's not gonna bite, Greg."  
  
"I know. This just isn't what I expected. This isn't Sara."  
  
Nick returned his gaze to the woman with which he had formed such a close friendship over the past three years. "Don't listen to him, Sara. Greg's just a little freaked out by hospitals. We all miss you, sweetie. Hurry and wake up so Greg has someone else besides me to torment." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.  
  
Nick patted Greg on the shoulder and walked out the door. Greg took a deep breath. "Come back, Sara." He gave her a final glance and followed Nick into the hallway.  
  
Brass was pushing Grissom in a wheelchair and the CSI looked decidedly unhappy about it.  
  
"Hey, Boss, Nick greeted Grissom with a smile. "You're lookin' better, man. And," nodding at Brass, "looks like you got yourself a chauffeur."  
  
"Funny, Nick," Grissom smirked.  
  
"Any change?" Brass motioned toward Sara's door.  
  
Nick looked at Grissom, whose eyes were now avoiding his. "Uh, same, I think. Anyway, Greg and me should be going. We'll stop by to see you tomorrow, Griss."  
  
"Yeah, thanks, guys." the injured CSI glanced up at Greg and Nick.  
  
The two younger men nodded goodbye to Brass and turned to leave.  
  
Jim could swear he heard the word 'penguins' pass between the two as they walked away.  
  
"You ready to go in, Gil?"  
  
It was more than a few seconds before Grissom responded.  
  
"Jim, just push me right inside the door and I'll take it from there."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ok." Brass did as instructed and left Grissom sitting just inside the doorway to Sara's room. He paused and looked over his shoulder. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, Gil. I'm gonna grab some coffee. Use the button in there if you need anything before that."  
  
Grissom nodded absently, not having heard half of what Brass said to him. He stared into the shadows, afraid to move forward. The eager anticipation of seeing Sara had been tempered by a numbing fear that he wouldn't be able to handle what he saw. Sure, Catherine and Brass had tried to prepare him. He knew she was breathing on her own. He knew her chest and abdomen were bandaged from the surgery. He knew there would be IV lines and monitors. What he didn't know was how he could stand seeing her like that. Would he cry? Would he even be able to look at her face? Would he just sit and stare?  
  
Grissom shook himself from the obsessive thoughts. He could do this. He had to do this. Sara was unconscious and she needed him. He needed her. As he sat in the wheelchair, the urge to be near her and touch her skin overwhelmed him. Grissom had promised himself that he would walk into her room. It was silly and irrational, but still something he would not give up. He felt so out of control and being able to walk brought some of that back to him. His shoulder ached as he reached downward and flipped the brakes on the wheelchair. Slowly, pushing himself to his feet, he gained his balance and walked unsteadily into the room.  
  
Grissom's breath caught as he took in Sara. It was her. Damn, it was her. He leaned heavily upon the bed rail as he scanned the face he knew all too well. The smile that kept him up at nights was, of course, nowhere to be seen. Her mouth was relaxed, but her left cheek was still marked with bruises. He was with Sara. She was bruised and bandaged, but he was with her. Slowly he surveyed her body and his mind snapped back briefly to the hell of Dunn's apartment.  
  
Grissom managed to pull the chair beside her bed closer, until it butted against the bed frame. He sat down and leaned forward to reach for her exposed hand. It was warm as he circled his thumb over the soft skin.  
  
"I'm here, Sara."  
TBC 


	25. It's all about a man, his jeans and the ...

Hi guys. Thanks for the reviews. You rock. This is a bit longer than usual, mainly because I had a bit more time than usual. Let me know what you think. Enjoy. Peace.  
******************  
Grissom had thought about this moment many times over the past two days. He wanted to talk to her. He had things to say. In his many ruminations, it was always difficult. Now, sitting beside her still form, his hand enveloping hers, talking to her felt natural.  
  
"Sara, I need to say some things to you. First, I'd really like for you to wake up. I know you were tired and needed to sleep, but now you're just scaring me. And, trust me on this, I've been scared enough in the past week to last a lifetime."  
  
Sighing deeply, he scooted the chair even closer so he could relax into it while still holding her hand.  
  
"Catherine told me about your brain scan. The doctors classified it as inconclusive. It appears that they won't know if something is amiss until you come around. I never go on gut instincts, Sara, but this time I have to. My gut tells me that there's nothing wrong with your brain. Because, there can't be. It just, and I know this sounds childish, but it just wouldn't be right."  
  
Grissom tried to get more comfortable as his shoulder gave a sudden throb. A wave of sadness swept over him. Well, geez, what did you expect, he chided himself. You finally get to talk to Sara and you thought she'd miraculously awake at the sound of your voice? Grissom actually chuckled aloud.  
  
Continuing to laugh softly, he addressed her again. "My other thought is that maybe you're subconsciously still harboring resentment toward me for having pushed you away for so long. And, being the stubborn woman that you are, somehow willed yourself into a coma in order to hurt me. Granted, I came up with this theory while still on a morphine pump and, quite delusional, I might add. He stopped laughing suddenly.  
  
"Well, Sara, it worked. You're hurting me. Can we just call it even now and you can wake up and laugh at me for being so gullible as to fall for the old 'girlfriend in a coma' ploy." Or, you can just wake up and hit me for being so presumptuous as to call you my 'girlfriend.' Once again a small laugh escaped his lips. He couldn't really say why. With startling swiftness though, his body was wracked with sobs. Noiseless convulsions of grief poured forth as tears flowed freely. And for once in his life, Gil Grissom did nothing to stop them. Minutes passed as he sat gripping Sara's hand and let the wordless emotion take over his body. Finally, the sobs became less frequent and the tears stopped coming. Taking several deep breaths, he placed Sara's hand on the bed and eased himself out of the chair. For the hundredth time he silently cursed the sling on his left arm that kept his shoulder immobile. Leaning over her, he ran his fingers gently across the side of her face, pausing briefly to savor the feel of her soft skin.  
  
"You know, we've got a lot to talk about. And, believe it or not, I'm actually looking forward to it. Don't let that shock you too badly. Also, I think I remember promising to cook you dinner for our first date. Um, you never did say whether you like Fettuccini Alfredo? Not to worry, I'm adaptable. However, I must admit to rethinking the garlic bread. The whole breath issue and all. Again, maybe I'm being presumptuous."  
  
His hand grazed over the bandage on her head and his fingertips found themselves entwined in her hair. Grissom bent down and brought his lips to hers, lingering, almost unwilling to break the contact. After a few seconds he pulled back slightly and moved his mouth to her ear.  
  
"Don't leave me, Sara. Please, don't leave me."  
  
Standing upright, he smoothed her hair one last time, then returned his hand to stroke the tops of her fingers.  
  
"I'll be back in a few hours, ok? If you're awake, you'll get to see these horrible penguin pajamas that Catherine's making me wear."  
  
From the doorway, Brass cleared his throat and Grissom turned toward him.  
  
"You ready to go back, Gil?"  
  
Grissom nodded and slowly broke physical contact with Sara. He paused briefly, and then turned from her.  
  
Jim made a move to push the wheelchair toward him, but Grissom shook his head. Slowly he made his way over to the chair and took a seat.  
  
"God, you're stubborn," Brass sighed.  
********************  
The next two days passed quickly, with the team making rounds in and out of the hospital, visiting their colleagues. Much to the frustration of her doctors, friends and Grissom, Sara remained unresponsive, though the surgical wounds were healing and she'd been moved out of intensive care. He visited her as allowed and was never at a loss for words when at her bedside. The same could not be said of him when he returned to his room. Grissom seemed to be isolating himself from everyone but Sara. He was quick to anger and appeared quite restless. Catherine noticed the mood swings and finally decided to broach the issue.  
  
"You're not yourself, Gil. What's up? she asked point blank while packing his belongings in a small overnight bag. He was being discharged and had been about to step into the bathroom to change clothes.  
  
"I just want to go home, Catherine."  
  
"You're withdrawing. You haven't wanted visitors. Christ, Grissom, you barely said two words to Nick and Warrick yesterday."  
  
She heard the bathroom door close, but just spoke louder.  
  
"Gil, you, of all people, know that it's perfectly normal to go through a period of adjustment after a traumatic event."  
  
"Cath, I'm not having this conversation with you. And why couldn't you just bring me a pair of jeans like I asked you too?"  
  
"Cause I was in a hurry and grabbed the first clothes I saw. The point is, Gil, don't shut out the people who want to help.  
  
Grissom emerged in black pants and a blue, short-sleeved polo shirt. He simply cocked his head at her, looked away and stuffed his pajamas into the bag along with the arm sling he'd worn for the past four days.  
  
"Have it your way for now, but I'm not letting this drop for long. I can't believe you're keeping the pajamas," she said, choosing to ignore the fact that he was supposed to be wearing the sling. "I thought for sure they were headed for the garbage."  
  
She picked up the overnight bag. "Do you have your discharge papers and prescriptions?"  
  
"Yes, now let's go before some idiot shows up with a wheelchair and says it's against hospital policy for me to walk out."  
  
"I've been called worse." They both turned to see a grinning Jim Brass pushing a wheelchair into the room. "An orderly was on his way down with this. Hospital orders."  
  
"No." Grissom was adamant.  
  
"Come on, Gil, get in the damn chair so we can go." Catherine was quickly losing patience.  
  
Without as much as a glance at either of them, Grissom grabbed the bag from Catherine and pushed his way past Brass. "I'll get a cab."  
  
Catherine made a move to go after him, but Jim grabbed her arm. "Give him a couple minutes."  
  
She smiled smugly. "But in a couple of minutes I won't still want to smack him."  
  
"My point exactly," Brass returned her smile. "Don't worry, we'll catch him by the time he gets to the parking lot."  
  
"Don't you ever get pissed, Jim?"  
  
"Sure, but you have this tremendous calming influence on me."  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"Absolutely. In fact, we should sit down and talk about it sometime."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him as his hand on her back urged her out the door.  
***************************  
Grissom reached the parking lot, after stopping one or two times to lean against an especially appealing wall. Ok, he thought, the wheelchair would probably have been a good idea. Cab. Right, call a cab. Grissom cursed silently when he realized he no longer had his cell phone. Suddenly tired he dropped his bag, leaned back against the bus stand and closed his eyes.  
  
"Takes a lot of energy to be that stubborn, Griss." Catherine paused beside her friend. "You all right, or should we check you back in?"  
  
"Touché," he sighed.  
  
"I guess that'll have to do for an apology," Brass shrugged.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry for my behavior upstairs. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."  
  
"Taken what out on us, Gil?" Catherine pushed.  
  
"Nothing, forget it."  
  
"Grissom," Brass spoke up, it's ok to say you're angry and frustrated. We've known you're human for quite some time now."  
  
"Frustrated? Grissom raised his voice. You have no idea." He paused and massaged his forehead. "She's, she's just not listening to me. Do you understand that? Sara's not waking up. She's not. And, I swear, I feel like going home and shutting my door and never coming out again, because I'm not fucking helping her! Nothing I say or do is helping her!"  
  
"So this is all about how bad you're feeling?" Catherine said flatly.  
  
"Damnit, that's not what I mean and you know it." I, I think about how she tried to protect me when Dunn had us and I'm angry. I'm angry with her for telling me she loves me and then winding up lying in a hospital bed for maybe the rest of her life! And I'm angry with myself. I told Sara I loved her and then I couldn't even protect her!"  
  
Brass and Catherine were mildly stunned.  
  
Grissom's continued, his tone much lower. "If two people love each other, neither of them should be allowed to get hurt or sick or die. Especially not Sara." He paused. "I know that doesn't make sense, but it did at three a.m. when I thought of it."  
  
"I'm sorry, Gil," Catherine spoke softly. "I don't think we realized the two of you actually had a chance to express feelings for one another."  
  
"I just want to go home, grab a shower and come back to be with Sara."  
  
"Well, don't get all bent again, but Jim and I might make you add a nap and a decent meal to that list," Catherine smiled.  
  
Grissom frowned and started to open his mouth.  
  
"Oh, poor Gil Grissom," Catherine laughed. He has friends who actually love him and care about his well being."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Jim smirked. "It's all I can do to tolerate him sometimes."  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes at the cop. "Whatever, Mr. Insensitive."  
  
"So, Gil," Brass spoke up, "what kind of pain meds did the doc give you anyway?"  
  
"Vicodin, why?"  
  
Brass Grinned. "No reason. Hang tight. Cath and I will bring the car around."  
  
Grissom gave them a curious stare and nodded.  
  
"He just said more in five minutes than he has in five years," Jim whispered to her as they walked away.  
  
"Well, I don't think it's the medication. It's been like pulling teeth to get him to take it. Nope, I think Gil Grissom just realized he is completely in love for maybe the first time in his life."  
  
"You really don't think I'm insensitive, do you Catherine?"  
**************************  
THREE HOURS LATER  
Nick and Greg had been in Sara's room for all of a minute and the younger man was already jittery.  
  
"Jeez, Greg, if being here freaks you out that much, go wait in the hall for me."  
  
"No, I wanna be here. It's still kinda creepy is all." He allowed his eyes to focus on Sara's face.  
  
Nick turned toward Greg. "Look, it's probably not doing her any good to hear us saying 'creepy' and 'freaky' every other sentence." He watched as Greg's face suddenly drained of color.  
  
"What? You better not be getting ready to puke," Nick drawled. Greg pointed to the bed and Nick turned to find himself staring into Sara's brown eyes. Her slowly blinking and not entirely focused brown eyes.  
  
"Sara? Sara? Greg, go get a doctor!"  
  
Nick reached for her hand and smiled at her. "Can you say something for me, Sara? Maybe give me a smile?"  
  
Getting no response, Nick's gripped her hand even tighter. Sara continued to blink her eyelids and had yet to look at him directly.  
  
A doctor and two nurses hurried into the room.  
  
"She hasn't said anything," Nick offered.  
  
The doctor turned to the CSI. "Sir, you need to leave the room."  
  
Nick backed up toward the doorway where Greg stood. They listened to the quick back and forth between the doctor and nurses.  
  
"Has the neurologist on call been paged?"  
  
"On his way up."  
  
"Pressures 110 over 80."  
  
"Ms. Sidle, can you hear me?" Ms. Sidle?"  
  
Another doctor pushed past Nick and Greg.  
  
Nick pulled out his cell phone. "C'mon, Greggo, let's go outside. I've got a call to make. Smile, man, she opened her eyes."  
  
"Yeah, she did." Greg allowed a small grin to play on his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He knew that Nick was just trying to be optimistic. What went unsaid between either of them was the prospect of brain damage.  
**************************  
Grissom had been sleeping soundly for the past two hours. Catherine sat on his bed and gently shook his arm. "Gil?"  
  
His eyes sprung open and after a few seconds he realized where he was. Home, in his bed. What was Catherine doing here? Sara, he thought.  
  
"What is it, Cath?" Before she could answer he bolted upright and growled as pain shot through his shoulder and collarbone.  
  
"Easy, Gil."  
  
"Sara's awake, isn't she?"  
  
"How'd you know that?"  
  
"I just had a dream," he replied, reaching for the clean clothes he'd laid out on the bed earlier.  
  
"She opened her eyes. Nick just called." Catherine looked slightly puzzled. "You had a dream?"  
  
"Yeah. Is she talking?"  
  
"Well, Nick said she didn't say anything to him. The doctors made him leave. They're running a bunch of tests."  
  
Grissom's face creased with concern. "We need to get to the hospital. Will you, um, excuse me while I get dressed?"  
  
"Oh, sure." She paused at the door. "Listen, Gil, all we know is that she opened her eyes. This could still be a long road."  
  
"Point taken. Now please close the door."  
  
Grissom threw off the sheet and braced his shoulder. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he began to pull on his pants. He simply couldn't stop the huge grin that spread across his face.  
*************************  
Exactly thirty-two minutes later, Grissom and Catherine reached the nurses' station on Sara's floor. Grissom knew it was thirty-two minutes, because he had glanced at his watch every time he'd felt himself starting to panic. Every time he became afraid of what the doctors would tell him.  
  
Nick and Greg hurried over when they saw the two.  
  
"You heard anything, Nick?" Grissom wasted no time with pleasantries.  
  
"Not yet. Her neurologist has been in there for about a half-hour or so. The nurse said he'd come talk to us after the exam."  
  
"Thanks, Nicky," Grissom replied absently as he walked toward Sara's door.  
  
"Gil?" Catherine called after him. "You need to wait out here."  
  
It became a moot point as Sara's doctor and a nurse emerged from her room.  
  
"How is she?" Grissom asked, attempting to read their faces.  
  
Nick, Catherine and Greg quickly gathered around.  
  
"Ms. Sidle has regained consciousness. I've conducted a basic neurological exam and the findings appear to be normal, but -"  
  
Various sighs and exclamations were heard. Grissom held up his hand to silence the team and allow the doctor to continue.  
  
"As I was saying, initial findings are normal. Ms. Sidle, however, continues to be somewhat disoriented. All things considered, I'm fairly confident the condition is temporary. We'll continue testing her basic neurological function every couple of hours."  
  
The doctor looked directly at Grissom. "She bucked the odds here. I'm glad I had some good news for you."  
  
"Thank you," the CSI replied.  
  
"Mr. Grissom, I'm not going to tell you that you can't see her. In fact it might help." He looked at the others. "Sorry, but until she's more oriented, I don't want her seeing more than one familiar face. It could be too confusing."  
  
"I'll be in the waiting room, Gil."  
  
"Thank you, Catherine," Grissom replied as he slowly pushed open the door and walked into Sara's room.  
  
The curtains were partially open giving the space minimal illumination. Grissom adjusted his eyes to the dimness and approached Sara's bed. His heart seemed to skip a beat as she appeared much as she had when he'd visited that morning. Her eyes were closed. He walked closer.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
Slowly, her eyelids opened and she peered up at him. Grissom smiled at her and Sara's lips curled upward, giving him a smaller version of the smile that was his alone.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
Her voice was shaky and hoarse, but he was quite certain he'd never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. He reached for her hand, but instead of finding it, he felt a soft pull on the knee of his blue jeans. Her smile broadened as she released his jeans and took his hand. Grissom intertwined his fingers with hers as he looked into her eyes, sensing a question.  
  
"Yeah, Sara, I remembered."  
TBC 


	26. Yeah, he's got issues So what?

Hi guys. Sorry this is late. And, I must admit, it's largely dialogue oriented. I really just wanted to post this, because I'm still working on the final stuff. Hope you like it and the last chapter (I swear) will be up soon.  
*******************************  
Grissom stirred in his sleep, his hand attempting to tighten around Sara's. Grasping nothing but air, his eyes opened. Briefly, not seeing her hospital bed beside him, he panicked. Right, he thought, they'd taken her downstairs for the MRI. He must have dozed off. Straightening in the chair, Grissom stretched as best he could, giving an audible groan as pain shot through his collarbone. He stood slowly and walked to the window. The lights of Las Vegas cut into the night sky. It was now more than six hours since Sara had regained consciousness. The best six hours he'd had in the past week. She had become more oriented and there continued to be no sign of neurological deficit.  
  
The doctor hadn't objected to Grissom remaining with Sara, as his presence seemed to reassure her. Catherine had left hours ago, asking him to call if he needed a ride. Sara still hadn't said much. A few words and some halting sentences. The neurologist assured him that it was a result of fatigue and mental fog rather than an indication of any kind of lasting problem. Still, Grissom knew he'd be much more relieved when he would have to beg Sara to stop talking and get some rest.  
  
"Hey, you?"  
  
Grissom turned quickly at the soft, yet familiar voice. A smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of Sara. A well built, dark-haired orderly was maneuvering her bed through the door and back against the wall.  
  
"I missed you," Grissom offered as he moved toward her.  
  
She smiled back at him, then grinned at the young man pushing the bed into place. "Thank you, Ted.  
  
"No problem, Sara. You take care now, honey," the orderly answered before leaving.  
  
Grissom raised an eyebrow as he reached for her hand.  
  
"Well, someone's a bit more talkative than the last time I saw them. Or are you only that way with Tad?"  
  
"Ted," she grinned mischievously.  
  
"Whatever. You want me to call Tad back here to sit with you, Sidle, because my shoulder is starting to hurt and this physical therapist, ah, what was her name? Julie, yes, that's it. She offered to give me a massage."  
  
Sara somehow managed to keep a straight face. "Well, if she offered."  
  
"Enough," he sighed. "I concede. It appears you are quite confident that there's no place I'd rather be than here."  
  
"You might say that. Plus, I wouldn't want to have to physically hurt this Julie person."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with your brain," Grissom laughed.  
  
"God, I can't believe the fog is actually starting to lift. I swear, Griss, for the first couple of hours it seemed to take me forever to get thoughts into words. The past hour has been incredible. I'm able to speak."  
  
"The doctor said the halting speech was perfectly normal. Don't worry."  
  
She struggled to prop herself further up against the pillows and gave a sharp yelp of discomfort.  
  
"Hey, easy. You can't move like that," Grissom tried to soften the edge in his voice as he placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Her eyes were shut against the pain and her breathing was rapid.  
  
"Sara? You want me to get the doctor?" She didn't answer and Grissom was halfway to the door.  
  
"Griss, I'm ok. Sorry. It just hurt a little."  
  
He paused, debating whether or not to ignore her and get the doctor anyway.  
  
"Really, I'm ok. I swear."  
  
He relented and returned to her bedside. "You've had major surgery. You simply cannot do whatever you want." He rubbed her arm softly. "Better?"  
  
"Oh yeah," she grinned. "In fact, I hear most hospitals are going to stop giving morphine in favor of arm rubbing."  
  
Grissom blushed slightly and went back to holding her hand.  
  
"Could you raise the back of my bed a bit? I'm getting tired of staring up at you."  
  
"How about if I lower myself into the chair and spare your body further pain?"  
  
She looked at him curiously as he sat down beside her. His movements were slow and deliberate.  
  
"Grissom?"  
  
He cocked his head as she looked into his eyes. He could see concern and apprehension clouding her face.  
  
"I, uh, I haven't even asked how you are," she said softly.  
  
His heart jumped into his throat as he tried to find some way to answer. This wasn't about him. He wasn't the one in a coma for most of the past week. He hadn't thought of his own pain for days. Did she have any idea of what had happened to her?  
  
"I'm sorry, Grissom."  
  
"Huh?" his thoughts snapped back.  
  
"I'm sorry for being so thoughtless. I want to know how you're doing."  
  
"How I'm doing?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. Why is that strange?"  
  
"I'm fine, Sara. Perfectly all right?"  
  
"Well, your shoulder's bandaged and you can't move very well, so I know you're not exactly fine."  
  
He paused, trying to find just the right words and inflection in order to put her mind at ease.  
  
"Sara, I don't give a damn about my shoulder. It'll heal. You've been in a coma for longer than I care to think about. Jesus, you scared me beyond belief and you're apologizing for not asking how I am?" Grissom broke off his words when he saw the puzzlement on her face. He turned his head away. His mouth apparently hadn't cared about the right words, much less the inflection.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly.  
  
He met her eyes briefly and she saw a haunted look that hadn't been there before.  
  
"Grissom?"  
  
"You need rest, Sara. Please, close your eyes and get some sleep."  
  
"I will. But first, tell me what happened to you. I vaguely remember the sound of a gunshot when you were struggling with Dunn." Sara inhaled sharply as she pieced together the scenario. "You were hit, weren't you?"  
  
"A graze, that's all. I told you I'm fine. Are you going to rest anytime soon?"  
  
She noticed his eagerness to change the subject and didn't quite know what to make of it. "Grissom, why don't you go home and get some sleep yourself? You look really tired."  
  
"What and let Tad come back. I don't think so."  
  
"I'm serious. Go home. You don't need to be here with me."  
  
He looked at her as if she'd just spoken a foreign language that he couldn't begin to understand.  
  
Both were distracted by a soft knock on the door.  
  
"Hey, Sara," Catherine smiled. "Sorry to intrude, but I wanted to see once again that you were still back in the land of the conscious. How you doing?" She walked to the bed and noticed that Grissom seemed oddly distant.  
  
"Good, Cath. Thanks for coming. I know I saw you earlier, but everything was still fuzzy."  
  
"Not surprised, after what you've been through. Warrick, Nick, Brass, Greg, and jeez, everyone else in the lab sends their love."  
  
"Thanks. That means a lot." Sara paused and looked at Grissom. "I was just trying to convince him to take his tired butt home. I know I'm about to drop off myself," she yawned.  
  
"Couldn't agree more," Catherine answered. "I don't think he's had more than two hours sleep since he's been out of the hospital. Come on, Gil."  
  
Grissom glared at Catherine, but she ignored it.  
  
Sara's expression registered some acknowledgment of Catherine's statement before she began to close her eyes.  
  
"Thanks, Cath," Sara mumbled.  
  
"Come on, Gil, let's go."  
  
Grissom stood, his gaze now fixed upon Sara. "Yeah, meet you in the lobby." Catherine nodded and left the room.  
  
Leaning over Sara's bed, Grissom sighed. She looked so peaceful. Bending down, he kissed her forehead, not quite certain if she was fully asleep. Hesitating briefly, he found his voice.  
  
"I love you, Sara."  
  
He straightened and took several steps toward the door.  
  
"I love you too, Griss."  
  
Startled, he turned and looked more closely at her. Grissom saw one sleepy eye peering at him. He couldn't help but smile.  
  
"I do remember most of what happened when we were with Dunn," she said drowsily. I'm especially glad I remember that part."  
  
"Me too. Sleep well." He watched as the eye closed and she seemed to sink further into the pillow.  
  
"And, since when do they hospitalize someone for a graze? You can explain that tomorrow, Griss," she mumbled sleepily.  
  
Grissom knew he was busted as he continued to watch the brunette. Still, her words heartened him. Sara's breathing became soft and rhythmic. He reflected on what she'd said. She loved him. He hadn't quite known how to broach the subject of their emotional exchange while being held by Dunn. Grissom wasn't certain if the words were truly how she felt, or influenced more by their predicament and or the heroin.  
**********************************  
Brass swung by Grissom's house that morning and picked up a much more rested looking CSI. They drove to the hospital, sipping coffee as Brass filled his colleague in on the previous night's happenings at the office. It all seemed so removed from Grissom's current reality. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting.  
  
"So, then Nick set Greg's hair on fire and the kid went up like a bottle rocket."  
  
"Hum," Grissom mumbled. "Any leads?"  
  
"I know you usually ignore most of what I say, but this is ridicules."  
  
"What? Oh. Sorry, Brass. I was thinking."  
  
Jim simply shook his head, before downing the rest of his coffee.  
  
"What's happening with Charlie Dunn? Grissom asked evenly.  
  
The cop gave him a quick sideways glance before answering.  
  
"They think he'll live. You've seen the charges, Gil. The DA's Office was waiting on the last one. You know, to see how things went with--." Brass abruptly stopped, realizing he'd almost said something unintended.  
  
"With Sara," Grissom finished for him. "I still remember how things work, Jim. Has he been transferred to County lockup yet?"  
  
"Next week maybe. He's still in the burn unit."  
  
The CSI nodded, crumpled his coffee cup and looked out the window.  
  
Brass studied his friend, before realization finally dawned. "No, Grissom. You cannot see him. Absolutely not."  
  
"I have a right to, Jim."  
  
"That's crap and you know it. You threatened to kill the man in front of about ten witnesses."  
  
"Come on, Brass. I was in shock. All I want is to see him. To bury this once and for all.  
  
"Save it for court. No way are you getting within a hundred feet of that room. His lawyer would have a field day."  
  
"Brass, I don't want to threaten him. I just want to se the SOB."  
  
"Calling him an SOB and using the word 'bury' isn't helping your cause."  
  
Jim pulled into a space at the hospital and turned in his seat.  
  
"Listen, Griss, just let it go. For your sake and for Sara's."  
  
Without looking at Brass, Grissom reached for the door handle. He stepped out and paused. "I can't." Not caring whether his words were heard, he headed into the hospital.  
  
TBC 


	27. Griss, have I ever told you of my French...

Hi guys. Thanks for the reviews. I'm sorry it took me longer than usual to get this posted. I wanted to do a decent job and I hope that's how it turned out. A great big THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to leave a review and a huge YOU ROCK to those who reviewed consistently and kept encouraging me. This was my first piece of fan fiction and I can't tell you how much your words bolstered me. I don't want to name names; for fear that I'll leave out someone. But, I think you guys know who you are. You're awesome, dudes. Sorry, can't help the use of 'dude.' I was raised in California.  
  
Anyway, please enjoy and let me know if it was a decent ending. I am writing an epilogue and just wanted to know if most of you want to read it or not. If not, that's cool. I'll just let it stand. Peace.  
  
***********  
Sara awoke suddenly. Startled, she struggled with her surroundings. Reality crept in. She was in her hospital bed. Still. Sara couldn't help the frown that creased her face. She'd hated hospitals since her first and up until now, only experience as a patient. At age ten her appendix had almost burst before she was rushed into emergency surgery. Thoughts of the days she'd spent in the hospital afterward still made her cringe.  
  
Sara's parents had been busy people, their business a tremendous commitment. They visited her every day, but the hours alone were scary, lonesome and, to her mind, boring beyond all belief. One nurse in particular, grated on Sara's nerves. Having heard one too many fake endearments from this particular RN, Sara had thrown a slice of mummified French toast straight at the woman's face. It was a direct hit, syrup side and all. She hadn't seen that nurse again.  
  
Now, almost twenty-three years later, the fear and boredom twins reared their ugly heads once more. God, she thought, what made me dredge up that old crap? She was stiff and achy this morning. Nothing new there. She also felt flushed. Not quite right. Sara pulled the hospital blanket up to her neck to offset the chilliness, but immediately felt too warm. She was just about to let out a loud sigh of frustration when Grissom and Brass walked through the door.  
  
"There is a God," she greeted them with a grin cut short by a yawn.  
  
"Let me guess, someone is bored?" Grissom smiled broadly as he took her hand. He felt odd kissing her while Brass was in the room, so he concentrated on rubbing her fingers as inconspicuously as possible.  
  
"Bored doesn't even begin to cover it. Hey, Jim."  
  
"Well, you only look about fifty times healthier than last time I visited," Brass grinned. "I won't hold that yawn against you."  
  
"Thanks. Seriously though, this place is starting to drive me crazy. Any idea when I'm getting out? I want to be home."  
  
Grissom watched her intently as she fidgeted with the blanket, seemingly trying to find a degree of comfort. "Not for another few days, at least," he replied distractedly. "Sara, when was the last time a nurse came in?"  
  
"C'mon, Griss, I barely get to sleep and someone's waking me to draw blood. They're all vampires. Yuck." She shivered noticeably.  
  
His hand automatically went to her forehead. "You're really warm," he frowned.  
  
"That would explain the burgeoning love hate relationship with my blanket." She sighed in frustration, again pushing the offending material to her waist.  
  
"Jim, will you get a nurse?" Grissom asked as he quickly pulled the blanket back over Sara and tucked it beneath her chin.  
  
Brass was already out the door as Sara shifted uncomfortably. "Grissom, we both agree I'm warm. You trying to kill me or something?" She pulled at the blanket. "I thought you loved me?"  
  
"I do love you, now leave the damn blanket alone," he said brusquely. He brought both of her hands into his.  
  
Sara was incensed. "Man, Griss, who pissed in your Wheaties?"  
  
He regarded her solemnly for a few seconds before breaking into a wide smile. "Sorry." He bent and kissed her lips softly.  
  
"Umm, perhaps I should get feverish more often."  
  
"Perhaps not," he countered. "It would have been a much longer kiss if I thought you were up to it."  
  
"Well, not if Brass were here, I noticed." She couldn't help smirking.  
  
Grissom blushed slightly and Sara knew she'd made her point.  
  
An older RN walked briskly into the room, followed by Jim.  
  
"Ok, let's see how much your fever's gone up, darlin," she all but chirped, before popping a thermometer into Sara's frowning mouth.  
  
"What do you mean, 'gone up?' She had a fever earlier?" Grissom peered suspiciously at the nurse.  
  
"Well, at 6:00 AM it was just over one hundred and one. The doctor was notified and antibiotics were prescribed. Post-operative fevers are really not all that unusual.  
  
Brass spoke before Grissom could. "But, the surgery was almost a week ago."  
  
"All the same, it's really quite common. No need to worry." She smiled insipidly at the two men.  
  
Grissom narrowed his eyes at the nurse he'd quickly grown to dislike. I'll worry if I want to, he thought. Hospitals make mistakes all the time. And where Sara is concerned nothing is ever 'quite common.' Stop worrying? I don't think so. Nope, I'll continue to worry, thank you very much. So just save your overly cheery platitudes, Nurse Ratchet. And those hideous pink scrubs with kittens chasing yarn that you're wearing do nothing to bolster my opinion of you. The beeping of the thermometer roused Grissom from his decidedly childish inner monologue and he realized that he probably hadn't gotten all that much sleep the night before.  
  
"All righty, let's see what we've got. It's only 102.5. Not much of an increase at all," the RN said sweetly. "I'll just page the doctor and see if he wants to change her medication."  
  
She swept out of the room, much to the relief of the three occupants.  
  
Sara sighed. "See, Grissom, it's only 102. I can take the blanket off."  
  
"No, you can't." His words were slow, as if talking to a recalcitrant child.  
  
"Can too."  
  
"Don't you listen to a thing I say?"  
  
Brass could stand it no longer. "Oh, for the love of God, you two deserve each other. Sara, leave the blanket alone," he barked. "And you," pointing a finger at Grissom, "you sit down and relax before they admit you to the psyche ward."  
  
Both CSI's, momentarily stunned into silence, cast disbelieving expressions at the cop.  
  
"Sorry," Brass shrugged. "I think it's a parent thing."  
  
"Well stop it, Jim. You're disturbing me again." Grissom raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
Attempting to switch the topic to safer ground, Sara asked about the previous night's cases. Brass spent a few minutes relating what the team had been working on. Grissom appeared largely disinterested and kept staring out the door.  
  
"Stay with her for a minute, Brass. I'm going to find Nurse Ratchet and see if the doctor's called back." Jim nodded as Grissom headed into the hallway.  
  
"Gil, just remember our earlier conversation," he shouted after him. "Stay on this floor. No visiting people." Brass turned back toward the bed.  
  
"Honestly, Sara, how did you survive being cooped up with him for so long?"  
  
"I managed," she said, before fixing him with an intent gaze. "What was all that about? Telling Griss to stay on this floor."  
  
Brass opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't certain what to tell her.  
  
"This is about Dunn, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," he conceded.  
  
"He's still here and Grissom's been to see him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Brass, can you give me more than one syllable at a time?"  
  
"Look, I just don't want him doing anything to jeopardize this case."  
  
"Why would he? Geez, this is Grissom we're talking about."  
  
"Sara, Gil's already threatened to kill the man." Brass regretted telling her as soon as the words left his mouth.  
  
Stunned into silence, she worked the words over in her head. No matter which way she turned the phrase it refused to make sense. It simply didn't equate with what she knew about Grissom.  
  
"I'm not even sure he knew what he was saying," Brass continued. "Between shock and blood loss, who knows?"  
  
Sara shook her head. "He told me it was just a graze."  
  
"Listen, you need to be talking to him about this."  
  
"Was he hurt badly?"  
  
Jim sat heavily in the chair beside her bed. "Well, you both had us drinking a fair amount of coffee in the waiting room that day. Griss was in surgery for a couple of hours." Sighing, he continued. "He lost a lot of blood at the scene. He was resisting treatment."  
  
A sudden chill wracked Sara's body. "Why, uh, why would he do that?"  
  
Brass reached over and patted her hand. "I think you need to ask him that?"  
  
"And, he threatened Dunn at the scene?" Her voice was hollow.  
  
Brass nodded.  
  
Both heads turned as Grissom re-entered the room. "Ok, the nurse will be in shortly with your new medication. The doctor switched you to a stronger antibiotic."  
  
She met his eyes in acknowledgement, then quickly looked away.  
  
"Well, I need to get home and catch some sleep before tonight." Brass stood and offered the chair to Grissom. "Get some rest, Sara. We need you back."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Catherine should be by this afternoon to give you a ride home, Gil. Call one of us if you need anything before then."  
  
Grissom nodded at his friend as he left, then turned his attention back to the woman know refusing to meet his eyes.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I'm not sure," she answered honestly.  
  
His face was a mix of concern and puzzlement. He stood and reached for her hand, but she pulled away. "Sara, what is it?"  
  
"Why did you lie to me, Grissom?"  
  
"What are you talking about? I've never lied to you."  
  
"Oh, I see," she said flatly. "You said you loved me."  
  
"What the hell, Sara? I do."  
  
"Then why do I have to find out from other people that it wasn't just a graze. That you were really hurt and apparently so hell-bent on revenge you were refusing treatment!"  
  
Grissom frowned and walked to the window. "It wasn't like that, Sara," he said calmly.  
  
Anger welled-up in her as she thought for the hundredth time that she could have lost him.  
  
"Turn around and look at me and tell me how it wasn't like that. How it wasn't some, out of character, macho bullshit that could have cost you your life! Tell me. Please."  
  
Her words stung him deeply. Fear, hurt and anger competed in his mind as he spun to face her. He wasn't sure which of the three emotions caused tears to come to his eyes.  
  
"Don't you understand? He almost killed you, Sara! You stopped breathing! Dunn hurt you!"  
  
The pain in Grissom's voice took Sara aback. The fervor with which he spoke did little to distract her from noticing the tears in his eyes.  
  
"But I'm OK now, Griss. I'm all right."  
  
His eyes pleaded with hers. "You weren't OK then. And I swear to God, Sara, the only thing I could think about was what that bastard had done."  
  
He paced nervously, ashamed for her to see his tears. She watched him; transfixed, yet knowing he needed to get it out.  
  
"I didn't hurt physically. I didn't feel it. But, I swear when I saw you lying there-" He took a breath and looked at her. "I've never wanted to kill anyone, but I wanted to kill him."  
  
Physically and mentally drained, Grissom sat down in the chair beside her bed, his head falling forward into his hands.  
  
Sara felt a tear run down her cheek as she watched him. Leaning forward, she stroked his hair softly then reached for his wrist. "Come here."  
  
Slowly, he raised his head. Taking a deep breath, he stood and draped his arms gently around her. They listened to one another breathe.  
  
"I'm sorry for yelling, Griss. I was wrong."  
  
"Now, now, you two, no hanky panky allowed." Nurse Ratchet came gliding through the door with a blood pressure cart, startling them both. "I'll soon have some medicine for you, Missy."  
  
Sara rolled her eyes at Grissom. "Honey, I told you we couldn't have sex in here," she reprimanded him. We'll do it in the car on the way home."  
  
It was all he could do not to choke. Grissom felt the warm blush spread up his face like a rash. Much to his delight however, Nurse Ratchet seemed even more flummoxed.  
  
"I, I I seem to have forgotten something. I'll be right back." The woman turned and hurried from the room.  
  
"Is it too late to get some French toast?" Sara bellowed after her. "With syrup?"  
  
Grissom gave her a crooked smile and she could tell he was trying hard to suppress a laugh. "You had to do it, didn't you?"  
  
"Whatever do you mean?" She shrugged in innocence.  
  
"You almost gave that woman a coronary. What am I going to do with you, Sara?" He leaned in and captured her lips in a gentle kiss.  
  
"I don't know, Griss, but we can't do it here. You heard the lady."  
  
He smiled and intertwined his fingers with hers, before his face became serious.  
  
"I'm sorry about everything. I shouldn't have kept that from you."  
  
She paused as if trying to come up with the correct words.  
  
"Grissom, just please remember that I love you as much as you love me and I worry about you just like you worry about me. Sometimes I think that's a hard concept for you to grasp."  
  
"Not anymore. I promise."  
  
"And as far as Dunn is concerned, we'll deal with those issues as they come up. Agreed?"  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"Still feel the need to go see him?"  
  
"What, and take time away from you. I don't think so." Grissom stroked her hair.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"We'll see him in court. Now lie down before I ask them to come in and sedate you for your own good."  
  
"You wouldn't."  
  
He raised a familiar eyebrow and Sara leaned back against her pillow.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"Yeah, Griss?" she yawned.  
  
"I've never seen you eat French toast?"  
  
"That's because I hate it."  
  
"So, why did you ask for some?"  
  
"Long story, Griss, but I think you'll like the outcome." 


	28. Epilogue: Cut, Print and Wrap Where's t...

Hi guys. Here is the promised epilogue. I'm so stoked that you liked the story. Again, thanks for all of the reviews and encouragement. I can't believe I actually finished my first story. Peace.  
Epilogue  
  
***********************************  
Sara couldn't believe how good it felt to finally be standing in her very own living room. No nurse Ratchet. Well, she thought, there appeared to be a nurse Grissom that wasn't going to let her out of his sight. She could deal with that. After all, he did have a cute butt. Sara tried to push that thought to the back of her mind as Grissom came into the apartment, carrying the couple bags containing clothes and various accumulated hospital stuff.  
  
"I don't even have to ask." Grissom smiled at her. "Being home after leaving the hospital is beyond words isn't it?"  
  
Sara nodded and reached for his hand. He squeezed it and leaned in for a gentle kiss.  
  
"I'll just put these in the bedroom before I get too preoccupied with your lips, Ms. Sidle."  
  
"I didn't know I was that captivating?" She gave him a sly smile.  
  
"Sara, you have no idea." His face was totally serious and she felt herself flush at his intense stare.  
  
"I'm flattered, Griss."  
  
He gave her a boyish grin and took the bags into her bedroom. He placed her medications within easy reach on the nightstand and took the extra bandages into her bathroom.  
  
"You're supposed to take your meds again in a fifteen minutes." He walked back into the living room to find her sitting rigidly on the sofa. Her expression was a mix of pain and fear.  
  
"Sara? What is it?"  
  
Her eyes were unfocused. Grissom took a careful step toward her. Finally, she shook her head and looked at him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Griss. I just got caught up for a minute. Thinking."  
  
"About what?" He didn't want to hover and made his way to the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles of water.  
  
"Uh, not sure. I know this sounds stupid, but I guess it just hit me that we're not there anymore? You know?"  
  
He didn't answer, sensing she had more to say.  
  
"We're not with Dunn. He can't hurt us." She paused and a small sob shook her body.  
  
Grissom crossed into the living room and knelt down beside her. Her hands reached out to him as he cupped her face softly, before leaning into a gentle embrace.  
  
"I wasn't going to cry," she sobbed.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Didn't want to give him the satisfaction."  
  
Grissom used both hands to raise her face to his. He stroked each tear- stained cheek.  
  
"You're not giving him anything. Dunn's out of our lives. Remember, you told me that. You cry because you hurt. That's for you, Sara. Dunn has nothing to do with it."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"Sara, since when do you guess?"  
  
"I don't."  
  
"No, you don't. So think of the facts. Dunn will be standing trial in a couple of months. Nothing is a certainty, but with the evidence, I think he'll spend the next two decades in prison."  
  
"You don't know that, Grissom."  
  
"You're right. All I know for certain is that he's in County lockdown awaiting trial." He paused and moved closer to her face. "And I promise you I will do everything in my power to make sure he never hurts you again."  
  
"I know you will." She leaned her forehead into his and took a deep breath.  
  
"Good. Now, do you want your pain meds?"  
  
"I'm OK, Griss. They just make me all fuzzy."  
  
Standing and taking a seat beside her he reached around and begun stroking her back.  
  
"I don't want to argue with you, Sara, but you know what the doctor said. The closer you adhere to the regimen, the less stress your body's under and the quicker you'll heal."  
  
"Thank you, Nurse Grissom."  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
"Can't you just sit here with me for a few minutes. I'll take the pills in a bit."  
  
"Good enough," Patient Sidle.  
  
"But, only if you keep rubbing my back. I've never had such a handsome nurse."  
  
"You drive a hard bargain."  
  
"That's why you love me."  
  
"One of many reasons, yes." He leaned over her and placed several kisses along her neck and shoulder.  
  
"Is this entirely proper for a nurse patient relationship?" She giggled and turned toward him. The sudden movement caused her to yelp in pain and sent her hand to her ribs. Grissom pulled back immediately, worried eyes searching her face.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"I moved too quickly."  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been kissing you. You really should be in bed."  
  
She smiled broadly and gave him a seductive wink. "I totally agree, Griss."  
  
"That's not what I meant and you know it."  
  
"Yeah," she conceded. "But you're gonna be one worn out puppy once I'm completely healed."  
  
"I'll look forward to it, my dear."  
  
"Oh, God, now we have to have The Discussion."  
  
"What discussion?"  
  
"The Acceptable and Unacceptable Terms of Endearment discussion."  
  
Grissom smiled. "I think this is why I don't do relationships."  
  
"Ok, that little witticism of yours means you're making dinner tonight."  
  
"And who else would? I can't have you eating take-out on your first night home."  
  
"Don't switch topics, Griss." Sara sat forward and fixed him with a serious gaze.  
  
"I'm all ears, sweetie."  
  
"Ok, first of all here is my list of endearments that I find horrible. Sweetie tops the list, followed by Baby, Snookums, Sugar and Dear."  
  
"And the acceptable ones?" Grissom couldn't suppress his grin.  
  
"Sweetheart is OK if used infrequently. Honey is all right as is Loverduck."  
  
"Loverduck?"  
  
"Yeah, loverduck." She grinned at him.  
  
"So I guess you're never going to call me Gil?"  
  
"Only when I'm pissed."  
  
"Good, I never really liked my first name."  
  
"I'll give you a couple of days to come up with your own definitive list of acceptable endearments."  
  
"I'll need all the time you give me."  
  
"I'm sure you will, Batman."  
  
"Um, I like it."  
  
"Griss?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Wasn't the Penguin one of Batman's arch rivals?"  
  
Grissom narrowed his eyes at Sara.  
  
"All right, who told you about the damn pajamas? He tried to look stern, but wasn't quite able to keep his grin hidden.  
  
"Let's see," she giggled. "Cath, Nick, Warrick, Greg-"  
  
"I get the point."  
  
"Well since you'll be spending a couple of night here playing Nurse Grissom?"  
  
"One, I didn't bring the pajamas in question and two, I'll be sleeping on the sofa."  
  
Sara couldn't help laughing at his serious expression.  
  
"C'mon, Griss, we're two adults barely capable of physical contact without painful consequences. I think we'll be safe sleeping in the same bed."  
  
"Are you, uh, sure? I really don't mind the sofa."  
  
"I'm sure your shoulder would feel much better in my bed, along with the rest of you."  
  
Grissom blushed, but nodded.  
  
"I'm still not wearing the penguins."  
  
"Oh, didn't I mention that I ask Cath to pick them up from your place? She should be here any minute."  
  
"Ok, now you're taking your medicine."  
  
She smiled slyly.  
  
"I've got a proposition for you, Griss."  
  
He eyed her warily.  
  
"If you wear the penguin pajamas tonight, you'll only have to wear blue jeans three days a week."  
  
A wide grin spread across both their faces and they leaned in for a kiss.  
  
"Done deal, Sara."  
THREE MONTHS LATER  
Charlie Dunn was found guilty on all charges and sentenced to 18-25 years in prison. He has a really weird cellmate.  
  
Grissom and Sara moved in together two months after she was released from the hospital. And, yes he continues to wear jeans three days a week. Sara is delighted when, every two weeks, he dons a suit so they can go out for a romantic dinner. Both are now fully recovered and, as Sara promised, Grissom is one sore, but satisfied puppy.  
  
Warrick and Brass continue to pursue Catherine. She simply hasn't been able to make up her mind.  
  
Nick is still seeking the perfect girl. Greg continues to pursue anything with breasts. 


End file.
